


All Of Me

by Alraune315



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dark, Lemon, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2018-05-11 12:47:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 98,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5627167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alraune315/pseuds/Alraune315
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>HP/MF Slash. GoF AU. While Harry struggles in Fourth Year with the Tournament and its consequences, he cannot help but notice the way a certain dark-eyed Slytherin is watching him... and soon enough, he is pulled into a game darker and more dangerous than he knew...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Slash, Lime/Lemon, Dark – so, don’t like, don’t read!  
> A/N: There are so few Marcus/Harry stories out there I thought I’d give it a try myself… this is a GoF-AU, Harry will be sixteen, though – no underage stuff here! Thus, all characters will be two years older than in the books and the age restriction for the tournament will be 19, accordingly, but otherwise everything is pretty much the same.  
> I probably should mention that English is not my mother tongue, so I hope there are not too many mistakes – feel free to point out any mistakes you can find so I can correct them and will know better next time!  
> Anyway, enough talking, on with the story! Enjoy – I hope you like it!

As far as he could remember, Harry had always been aware of people watching him. At the Dursleys it had been out of necessity: whenever he was watched, he had to pay attention not to make the slightest mistake while not showing that he knew he was being watched, because otherwise he would be accused of only working properly under supervision.

At Hogwarts, he mostly tried to ignore people watching him (except when it was Snape), but there was no way he could continue to ignore Marcus Flint’s stares. Flint had been watching him for weeks, staring at him during lunch and dinner (not during breakfast, though, but that was because Flint never bothered to show up for breakfast), staring at him in the hallways, staring at him when he walked from class to class and when he sat in the library, studying.

Today was the day after his name had been pulled out of the Goblet and Harry was in a really, really bad mood because he didn’t want to participate in the Tournament; because Ron was a stuck-up dumbass; because people didn’t even bother anymore to lower their voices when they gossiped about him and he walked by. So, when he saw Flint leaning against a window sill in the Entrance Hall after dinner and watching him with those dark, piercing eyes, Harry marched up to him and snapped at him: “What do you want from me, Flint?” He couldn’t remember ever having talked to him voluntarily, because who would be so mad as to walk up to Flint and disturb him with a conversation? But Harry was mad today, was in one of his suicidal walk-into-any-danger-with-your-eyes-wide-open moods and therefore didn’t care.

Flint raised his eyebrows slightly, obviously taken aback by the fact that someone had dared to speak to him. “What d’you mean, Potter?” His face held a pointedly bored expression, his dark, almost black eyes piercing Harry. He was a lot taller than Harry (he surely stood at 6’3”) and probably weighed twice as much him (though that was pure muscle); but it needed more than sheer body size to impress Harry. After all, he had known Dudley, a whale pretending to be a human, for all his life and had never been truly impressed by him even once.

“I want to know why you stare at me all the time,” Harry said shortly, his voice trembling with suppressed fury that was not directed at anyone in particular, but Flint seemed like a passable victim. “What. Do. You. Want from me?”

Flint grinned at him. “Maybe I just enjoy looking at your pretty face?” With that, he picked up his bag and strolled off nonchalantly. Now it was Harry who was staring after his tall, bulky silhouette disappearing in the hallway to the dungeons. What on _earth_ was that supposed to mean? Harry shook his head and decided to ignore him. It might be a nice change to ignoring the Gryffindors, who tried to cheer for him every time he showed up, as opposed to ignoring the Hufflepuffs, who obviously loathed him for taking away Cedric’s possible triumph, as opposed to ignoring the Ravenclaws, who had sided with the Hufflepuffs and gave him dark looks and whispered mean remarks, as opposed to ignoring the rest of Slytherin who were just a bit meaner and crueller than their normal selves.

With a sigh, he started walking to Gryffindor tower as his Potions essay wouldn’t be writing itself and there was no way Snape would accept “I couldn’t write my essay because I was in a really crappy mood” as an apology.

xXx

During the next days that were filled with hissed rumours, a five-foot-long essay for Charms, detention for not doing his Herbology homework, _three_ cauldrons exploding into his face during Potions, even more detention for that (because it was always his fault, no matter, how much Malfoy was snickering behind his cauldron and blinking at Snape innocently) and endless rain pouring down the windows, Harry hardly had time to think about anything but school and his sorry life. On top of this, however, he had to force himself to ignore Flint’s looks (he wasn’t sure whether he was seeing things or whether Flint actually looked at him _hungrily_ ), his winks and his meaningful grins with raised eyebrows.

On Friday night he sat in the library, eyes closed, his face placed on an old, dusty tome about Goblin wars and tried to calm down. Carefully, he touched his face; the skin felt raw and itchy because the unfinished Cleaning Potion (for removing particularly persistent stains, thank you, Malfoy) had only exploded about four hours ago, but it already felt a lot better than directly after the impact. His skin had pelt away, blisters blooming on raw flesh, accompanied by Hermione’s high-pitched screams. Without further comment, Snape had sent him to the Infirmary and Neville had informed him during dinner that he had received yet another week of detention. Harry grimaced when he thought of the snickers that had accompanied him during dinner; he would have liked to see Pansy Parkinson’s face while it was drowned in Cleaning Potion for removing particularly persistent stains, surely she wouldn’t be laughing _then_.

Someone slumped into the seat next to him. “Not now, Hermione,” he mumbled without opening his eyes; these days no one sat next to him willingly except Hermione.

“I’m not your little know-it-all,” a dark voice said and Harry snapped his eyes open, raising his head hastily and hissing at the pain spreading in his cheeks.

“Flint,” he groaned. Hadn’t he tried to ignore him? Wasn’t that enough to make him leave alone? “What do you want?”

“Wash your face with cold water for at least fifteen minutes,” Flint advised him shortly. “Then, go to bed, you look like you need a _lot_ of beauty sleep.”

“Huh?” Harry said drowsily.

“It certainly wouldn’t diminish your mental capacities either,” Flint added and then left the table without further ado.

 _How strange_ , Harry thought, but he supposed that he could not be all that wrong – he was truly in a need of sleep. In the bathroom in their dorms, he pointedly ignored Ron who was brushing his teeth and watching him sceptically while Harry washed his face with icy water for what seemed like ages.

He hadn’t expected that, but it actually did help and his skin didn’t even hurt anymore when he carefully poked his cheeks afterwards. “Weird,” he murmured to himself, went to bed and slept for eight hours straight.

xXx

During the next Potions lesson he sat as far as possible away from Malfoy and even raised a shield around his cauldron so no _unexpected_ ingredients could be added to his potion. His potion was far from perfect, but at least it hadn’t exploded so far. Busy grounding griffin teeth for the next step, he didn’t even look up when someone knocked on the door.

“Potter is supposed to come to Bagman,” a bored voice said – Harry _knew_ that voice and tried to spy its owner through the red fumes rising from Neville’s cauldron at an alarming speed.

“Why?” Snape asked, frowning and scowling at Harry as though the interruption were his fault – which it _was_ , technically speaking.

“Didn’t ask,” Flint said, still sounding bored.

“Well, Potter, what are you waiting for? Gather your things and hurry to do your _important_ tournament business. You will start again with this potion next lesson.”

“Yes, Sir,” Harry said, glad he had managed to escape from Snape’s wrath at least once.

Outside the classroom, however, he wasn’t that glad anymore – again, Flint was _staring_ at him.

“Uhm, thank you for picking me up,” Harry said nervously and immediately wanted to kick himself – why was he trying to be grateful towards Flint?

Flint seemed to wonder the same thing; he just grunted and hurried along the hall. Harry almost had to jog to keep up with his long strides – to his dismay, Flint was more than a head taller than him. “Didn’t think you’d lower yourself so far as to go and pick up Gryffindors for their appointments,” Harry added in order to seem less grateful.

“Might play for the Wimbourne Wasps after I graduate, gotta get into good graces with Bagman,” he said shortly. _Oh_ , Harry thought, he had never even once thought about making connections – but then again, he would probably not face any problems finding a job after his graduation (assuming he would survive until then). For a moment, he felt absurdly guilty about the fact that any Quidditch team would probably immediately take him – though probably only so they could multiply their merchandise income.

“Do you know what they’re going to do?” he asked and wanted to kick himself again; Flint had already said he didn’t know. His brain seemed to be seriously malfunctioning today.

However, the Slytherin just shrugged. “Bagman was all excited, almost thought he was high. Why do they let you participate anyway?”

“I didn’t put my name into the Goblet!” Harry said immediately. He didn’t know how often he had said this sentence already – probably you could wake him in the middle of the night and he’d instantly shout it into the face of whoever had woken him.

Flint rolled his eyes. “I know, you said so. But you’re too young.”

“Apparently it’s a magically binding contract,” Harry replied. “But… do _you_ believe me?” That would make three people in the school who believed him – Hermione, Dumbledore and Flint. What a cheerful group they made.

“’Course. Not even you would be stupid enough to actually think you’d stand a chance.”

“Well… uhm… thank you?”

Flint barked a laugh. “It wasn’t a compliment, Potter. There are other things I’d compliment you on.”

“Really,” Harry said, doubtfully. This conversation got stranger with the minute.

“You have a rather nice arse. Should wear your cloak over it less often.” Flint leered at him. “Here we are.”

Without saying anything else, he strode off and Harry stared after him, dumbfounded. Alright, so obviously Flint – fucking Marcus Flint, of all people! – was hitting on him. Or at least pretending to because he wanted to… get through with some kind of Slytherin plot. But, fact was, he was obviously hitting on him. So, Harry might be a bit slow concerning things like that (it had taken him until last summer to realize Ginny had been crushing on him since the first time they had met), but he wasn’t _that_ slow. Mostly.

Harry decided to dwell on anything concerning Marcus Flint later and strode into the room which was already packed with people. Immediately, a blonde woman with too much make-up and too long fingernails grabbed his arm and dragged him towards a broom closet. “Harry, it’s so great you are here – may I call you Harry? – what do you think of a private interview?”

“Um… oh, hello there Professor Dumbledore!” The woman instantly let go of his arm and scowled into Dumbledore’s direction.

The Headmaster smiled at Harry congenially. “It seems everyone is here. Let’s begin. Mr. Ollivander, if you would?”

“Of course, of course.” Harry hadn’t even seen Ollivander so far who had spoken with Mr. Crouch in a corner of the classroom. “Welcome to the Wand Weighing Ceremony. Champions, I will verify the quality of your wands today. Ladies first, please. Miss Delacour?”

Harry didn’t pay a lot of attention to the ceremony; instead he looked out of the window and thought about the Flint-situation as he had dubbed it. Was Flint genuinely interested in him – Harry didn’t have any delusions about Flint crushing on him, his interest was obviously of a more sexual nature – and if so, _why_? He couldn’t even remember having talked to him (not even during the Quidditch games), but he clearly remembered a violent shove from Flint in his third year that had almost made Harry fall from his broom and would have solved most of Voldemort’s problems in one single stroke.

His train of thought was interrupted by Cedric, who proudly told Ollivander that he polished his wand every day – _polishing the wand_ , indeed. Harry snickered quietly to himself. Then, his thoughts returned to Flint and Harry dreaded the next, inevitable question coming up, but logic must (at least according to Hermione). He didn’t ponder about Flint’s character for more than a few seconds – he was an arsehole, there was no doubt about it. But, did he, Harry, think Flint was handsome? Obviously, the answer was no. There was no way Flint could ever win the Most-Charming-Smile Award of Witch Weekly. But he wasn’t _that_ ugly – compared to Crabbe and Goyle, at least – as he was rather tall and really muscular. As in twice as much muscle mass Harry might ever have. Alright, his teeth were rather crooked and he really didn’t have a pretty face (his face had obviously taken a few Bludgers too many in his life and his nose looked like it might have been broken several times), but his dark, almost black eyes were somehow fascinating. On top of that, he seemed actually capable of forming complete phrases – which was quite astounding as his preferred method of conversation seemed to consist of grunts and snorts mostly.

“Mr. Potter, it’s your turn. Mr. Potter?”

“Harry? Harry, are you with us?” he heard Dumbledore ask.

“Huh?” Harry was torn from his musings about Flint’s physical merits and realized that Ollivander was obviously waiting for his wand. “Sorry,” he said and Fleur rolled her eyes and sneered at him. Harry couldn’t care less.

“Ah yes, I remember very well.” Ollivander turned Harry’s wand in his hands. He said no more and closely inspected a tiny fault on the lower part of Harry’s wand.

“That happened during the fight in the Chamber of Secrets,” he said, feeling as though he should explain. “I, um, fell.” In fact, a violent slash of the Basilisk’s tail had crashed him into a wall, but he didn’t want to be a show-off and talk about fighting Basilisks. Nevertheless, he heard Cedric gasp and stare at him incredulously.

“I see,” Mr. Ollivander said. “Well, it seems to be in order. _Aqua!_ ” He nodded when a fountain of water sprayed out of Harry’s wand. “But in order to see whether the fault has any influence on the wand you should perform a piece of Advanced Magic.”

 _What?_ Harry didn’t even know any Advanced Magic and he really didn’t want to embarrass himself any further than he already had.

“How about you show Mr. Ollivander your Patronus?” Dumbledore suggested with a smile.

“Oh yeah, riiight…” Harry blushed. He was really slow today, he mused, this better shouldn’t happen during the Tournament. “ _Expecto Patronum!_ ”

Several people in the room gasped when a silver stag appeared and pranced about the room. Mr. Ollivander smiled. “It looks faultless to me. Mr. Potter, I think your wand is perfectly in order and will work very well for the Tournament.” Harry gave the stag a pet with his hand and made it disappear with a poke of his wand. Hopefully, he turned towards the door, it seemed like everything was finished.

“Photos!” the blonde woman cried and clapped her hands excitedly. “Let’s start with a group shoot!”

xXx

When Harry stepped out of the room, he still had tiny flashes of lightning dancing before his eyes and he was hungry because he had skipped breakfast to finish his Charms essay and because of the ceremony he had missed lunch, too. “That was quite impressive,” Cedric said, looking down at him. “Corporeal Patroni are really hard; most Seventh Years can’t even produce a mist.”

“Professor Lupin taught me,” Harry said dismissively. “You just need a good teacher. Anyway, gotta go to dinner, I’m starving.” He wanted to dash off, but Cedric grabbed his shoulder.

“I’ll walk you.” Harry suppressed a sigh; Cedric was really nice and everything, but Harry didn’t feel like talking to him right now – he felt more like having dinner, to be honest. “So, what was that about the Chamber of Secrets?”

Surprised, Harry looked up at him. “You know it was opened two years ago, right? Ron and I went down to get Ginny back.”

“You make it sound like shopping in Diagon Alley.”

Harry snorted. “It wasn’t, I assure you.” Hadn’t Dumbledore informed the students of what had happened? Obviously not; Harry thought it might rather ruin a school’s reputation if anyone found out what had truly happened.

“So… where is it? And what _was_ in there?”

“It’s under the school and there was a Basilisk in there, but luckily Fawkes and the Sorting Hat helped me kill it. Well, maybe you shouldn’t tell everyone… even better, don’t tell anyone.”

“What do you mean, you killed a Basilisk? And who’s Fawkes?”

“He’s Dumbledore’s phoenix, don’t you know him? Oh right, probably not.” Harry remembered that most students probably had never even seen Dumbledore’s office from the inside – and most certainly not when they were model students like Cedric.

The Hufflepuff shook his head. “You really are mad, you know that?”

Harry had to laugh. “Yeah, I guess that’s what being chased by a Dark Lord does to you.” They had arrived at the Great Hall which was already buzzing with students. “See you ‘round.”

“See you soon,” Cedric said with a smile and went to his cluster of his fans assembled around the Hufflepuff table whereas Harry seated himself next to Hermione who just shoved the last sausage she had obviously saved for him onto his plate, without even looking up from her thick tome about Ancient Runes.

“Hi,” Harry said. “What happened in Potions after I left?”

“Neville’s cauldron exploded,” she informed him, “he’s still in the Hospital wing. Gryffindor lost sixty points – twenty thanks to you because you forgot to give your essay about Calming Potions to Snape.”

“Huh? We had an essay on that?”

Finally, Hermione looked up and rolled her eyes at him. “Honestly, Harry, what is it with you? You are so _confused_ these days… it’s even worse than normally.”

Harry scowled at her. “Well, thank you… not?”

“You really should work on your discipline,” she reprimanded him, “especially with the Tournament going on. You will need all of your strength for that and you should really try to learn as much as possible so you’ll at least stand a chance to pass all of the Tasks.”

“Why is it that everyone thinks I’m completely incompetent?” Harry grumbled into his mashed potatoes. “I’m not _that_ stupid.”

“Of course I don’t think so,” Hermione said and squeezed his hand reassuringly, “it’s just that it will be a lot harder for you than for the others – they have had three more years for learning, after all.”

Harry sighed. Naturally, Hermione was right, as always. He really had to get his act together and start learning serious, advanced magic. Luckily, he had Hermione by his side – she would help him, he knew.


	2. Chapter 2

During the next weeks leading up to the First Task, Harry spent most of his time in the library, either doing his homework (with the help of Hermione’s colour-coded homework planner) or reading up spells he thought useful – mostly on self-defense and duelling. Hermione had also added interlacing spells – something they did in Ancient Runes and Arithmancy, apparently – to his workload because she thought they might be helpful in the Tournament. Besides, he had had three major rows with Ron; one about Harry being too messy – yeah, like Ron had ever tidied up once in his life. At least, Harry had a reason to hate order and tidiness after he had been forced to keep the Dursley household in perfect order for years.

“Really, Harry, I don’t see why you didn’t take Arithmancy in Third Year, you’re not even that bad at it.”

Harry, who had been brooding over _Arithmancy for Beginners_ and carefully drawn a pattern of two spells, frowned at her. “Yes, thank you, Hermione, for your appreciation of my academic skills. Do you think this one might work?” She had instructed him to draw a pattern of two spells that would protect a vessel filled with liquid from falling over, though Harry failed to see how that might ever be of use for him in the Tournament.

“It’s fine,” she said, “you might want to work on your drawing skills, though. If you drew this one corner just a bit sloppier, the vessel would catch fire. But well done. You might consider joining Arithmancy next year, what do you think?”

“Don’t know,” Harry sighed who didn’t feel like doing even more work. He had to admit, however, that his marks _had_ improved since he had begun working harder and he had understood concepts which he hadn’t grasped before. His practical work had also become better, especially in Transfiguration, though his potion skills still were abysmal – but that was probably thanks to Snape. Recently he had taken to Vanishing Harry’s potions if they weren’t perfect whenever he stalked by – which was pretty much every time, so it had been weeks since Harry had actually finished a potion.

Hermione patted his hand. “You are doing well,” she said with a smile, “whatever the First Task will be, I’m sure you’re prepared.” Harry snorted. He doubted that very much. “Should we visit Hagrid for tea?”

“Sure, why not?” Harry said, shrugging, and gathered his stuff. He was happy to escape the library – and if even Hermione suggested a break from learning, he must have studied to her satisfaction – which was not achieved easily.

On the way to the Great Hall, they passed Flint who stood by a windowsill, arms crossed, looking down to the Grounds. He looked oddly peaceful – his scowl was even toned down a bit – but he flashed Harry a grin when they walked by. Harry just raised his eyebrows and as soon as they were out of earshot, he whispered to Hermione: “Flint’s been acting weird lately.”

“Really?” she said, obviously not interested. “Pay him no mind, Harry. Or did he bother you?”

“No,” he admitted – he didn’t want to tell Hermione about his suspicions of Flint flirting with him – even _thinking_ it sounded absurd – she would probably freak out and that was never a good thing. The less Hermione knew the better for him.

Hagrid seemed unusually nervous, he even let his infamous rock biscuits drop to the floor and almost knocked the tea kettle over. Harry hastily assured him that they didn’t mind not having rock biscuits.

“So,” Hagrid said, “are ye prepared for the First Task, Harry? Ye’d better be well prepared.”

“I think so,” Harry said slowly. “Do you…?”

“Ah, can’t tell,” Hagrid said. “But ye’d better come down to my hut, Friday on midnight, ‘kay? Bring yer cloak.” Harry swallowed. This Friday was just one week from the First Task.

“Hagrid!” Hermione gasped and looked at Harry, obviously torn between being worried about Harry and wanting to know about the First Task and being upset at Hagrid for helping Harry – as it was against the rules.

“Don’t talk of it,” Hagrid said, a warning tone in his voice. “How’s yer week, Harry? Ron talking to you again?”

“Not yet,” Harry sighed. “He’s still being stupid.”

“He’ll come ‘round,” Hagrid assured him. “He’s a good lad.”

Harry snorted; his current esteem of Ron’s positive qualities was rather low at the moment. Ron mostly ignored him (except for scowling at him whenever Harry said something) and making scornful comments whenever Hermione wasn’t in earshot. Harry mostly ignored him, too, except when his comments were especially mean, then he’d give an equally biting retort. But it _hurt_ ; Ron being mean to him hurt, but being mean to Ron also hurt; and Harry didn’t know if he wanted their quarrel to escalate simply because he was so furious or whether he wanted them to be friends again because he missed Ron that much.

Hermione was an amazing friend, really, but you couldn’t just hang out and play cards or go for random trips to the Quidditch Field and have an impromptu Quidditch match or get into endless rants about Snape with her. When Harry had paired up with Ron in class before, he now always paired up with Hermione – his practical work had improved, though, but lessons were a lot less fun without snickered comments behind their hands and making faces behind the teacher’s back.

For the rest of their visit, they avoided talking about the Tournament and Ron, and Hagrid told them about his newest pets, some creatures called Blast-Ended Skrewts which seemed exceedingly useless and dangerous at the same time, which made Hagrid even more excited.

On their way back to Gryffindor Tower, Hermione suddenly exclaimed: “I forgot _Numbers in Magic and Magic in Numbers_ for Arithmancy in the Library, I’ve got to pick it up! You don’t mind, do you?”

“Of course not,” Harry assured her with a smile and continued his way back alone, pondering about what Hagrid might possibly present him with on Friday. It was most definitely not a good sign when _Hagrid_ was worried. When two strong arms grabbed his waist and slammed him into the wall of a small alcove, hidden behind a curtain, Harry was so shocked he could only utter a sound that was most hopefully not a high-pitched shriek.

“Quiet!” Flint hissed at him, his hands pressing him against the cold stone wall. “Do you want to be heard?”

Actually Harry wanted just that because he assuredly didn’t feel comfortable in this tiny alcove and with Flint in his personal space, but he managed to snarl at him: “What do you want, Flint?” His voice hadn’t even trembled and his fingers crept stealthily into the direction of his wand. Flint, however, seemed to sense his intention and snatched his wrist.

“Talk to you,” he grunted.

“Really,” Harry said, doubt in his voice. “Can’t you do that in the corridor? Or, just anywhere but here?”

“No!” Flint said sharply. “So, you alright? How’s it going for the Tournament?”

Harry stared at him. Why was it that he could make absolutely no sense from Flint’s actions lately? “It’s going okay,” he said slowly.

“You know the First Task?”

“No, we’re not supposed to know,” Harry reminded him. Frustration was beginning to boil in him – why was Flint not making sense? It was not like Harry needed even more problems to solve in his workload.

“Bullshit, Delacour and Krum know, Diggory probably doesn’t, but he’s a pussy with no brains.” Well, wasn’t Flint a charming young man. Though he was probably not that wrong about Cedric; he was really nice and handsome, but he didn’t look like someone who got their hands dirty.

“But I don’t. And I don’t think –”

“Dragons,” Flint said. “You have to get past dragons.”

“How would _you_ know that?” Harry asked acidly.

Flint grinned at him. “Got my sources, but won’t tell. Now, what do I get for that information?”

“Well, firstly I don’t believe you, secondly why do you think you should get something for it?”

“I don’t have any reason to lie,” Flint said, his voice dangerously low.

“You don’t have any reason to tell me the truth, either,” Harry objected. And it wasn’t like he trusted him; Flint had every reason to lie.

“It’s dragons, Potter, if you don’t believe me, walk into the Forest on Friday and see for yourself. They’ll arrive Friday night. Getting them used to the climate or something.” Friday, Harry remembered, Hagrid had told him to come to him on Friday. But… dragons? Were they mad? Gone full mental, batshit crazy? How on earth was he, a sixteen year old, scrawny teenager supposed to get past a fucking dragon?

“Fuck,” he moaned, summing up the thoughts that were swirling through his mind, and breathed deeply. “So, say I believed you… you don’t happen to know how to get past a dragon, do you?”

“Why don’t you ask that know-it-all friend of yours?” Flint grunted. “Now, I want my reward.”

“Huh?” Harry said eloquently, still caught up in his thoughts about fucking _dragons_.

Flint didn’t bother explaining what he wanted, he simply grabbed Harry’s chin with his left and smashed their mouths together. Harry gasped with shock when he felt Flint’s mouth on his and tried to wriggle free, but Flint had him firmly pressed against the wall with his right arm and his left threatened to choke Harry if he tried to move his head. “What was that?” he hissed, as soon as Flint finished his attack on Harry’s mouth.

“That, Potter, was called a kiss. Now, would you stop playing the hard-to-get bitch and fucking open your mouth?”

Harry stared at him. “What?”

“Open your mouth, Potter. Never snogged anyone before?”

“That is none of your business,” Harry retorted, immediately cursing himself. What kind of comeback was _that_? “Let go of me!” Again, he tried to free himself from Flint’s grip, but it was in vain. Flint’s death grip reminded him of the Devil’s Snare from their First Year. What the fuck was he up to?

Flint rolled his eyes. “Stop playing the princess, Potter, I’m not a prince, so you might as well stop pretending.”

“I don’t want you to kiss me,” Harry hissed, the words catching in his throat.

“You’ll like it, I promise,” Flint said with a grin.

“It doesn’t matter, I don’t –”

“Have I lied to you so far?” Flint asked calmly, his thumb caressing Harry’s lips ever so slightly. He had ridiculously big hands, Harry noted absent-mindedly, and they were quite strong, too. “I didn’t lie to you about the water when you put your face into the potion, right? I didn’t lie to you about my ambitions for the Wimbourne Wasps, did I? I believe you didn’t put your name into the Goblet, right?”

“Right,” Harry had to admit and wanted to say something else, but Flint whispered, his voice oddly quiet and almost tender: “You’ll see.” Harry hesitated for just a second, but it was enough: Again, their mouths crashed against each other, Harry’s lips were just slightly parted and suddenly, Flint’s tongue was in his mouth and – _oh_.

 _Weird_ , Harry thought vaguely when a quiet moan escaped his lips, and then he thought no more; he just kissed him back, digging his fingernails into Flint’s neck and shoulders, pressing his body up against Flint’s; demanding more of his large, strong hands that stroked his back and dug into his hair. The kiss was just too good to be true, rough and warm lips against his, Flint’s tongue invading his mouth, his teeth on Harry’s lower lip, the scratch of beard stubble on his skin, the incredible heat of Flint’s huge, muscular body against his own, his hands that wandered over Harry’s body so possessively he couldn’t help the shudder that ran through him.

Then, reality hit him and he bit, digging his teeth into Flint’s lips until he pulled back.

“Fuck,” Flint gasped, spitting blood, “are you _mad_ , Potter? First, you kiss like a virgin and then you go full mental on me!”

Harry licked blood from his lips, the coppery taste lingering on his tongue, and grinned up at Flint, feeling giddy and furious at the same time. In case that had been a fight, he had obviously won. “Well, next time think twice before you put your tongue into my mouth.”

With that, he turned around and wanted to stride off, when Flint grabbed his waist and pressed him against the wall again. “Don’t turn your back on me,” he growled. “I’m not done with you yet, Potter.”

Harry bared his teeth. “I don’t fucking care, Flint. If you kiss me again now, I’ll bite off your fucking tongue.”

Flint stared at him; then he barked a laugh. “I think I might like you, Potter. You’re exactly after my taste.” For a moment, his fingers trailed over Harry’s skin where his shirt had slid off during their kiss – or fight, rather – then he walked off. “See you ‘round, Potter,” he called without looking back; Harry just gave a wordless snarl.

After Flint had left, Harry was fuming. Every single one of his problems seemed to come up right now and choke him: First, there was the Tournament (with fucking _dragons_ , in case Flint was right, but Harry would not think about that before he had seen them with his own eyes), then the workload of homework and the long list of detentions he still had, resulting in a terrible lack of sleep, and now thrice-damned Marcus Flint had added himself on top of all these problems.

With a jolt, Harry remembered he had detention with Snape in – five minutes. He immediately took a run, but of course he arrived late which gave him one more detention. He wouldn’t have any free evenings for weeks or even months… whatever, he was past caring right now. Furiously, but silently he scrubbed cauldrons for two hours until his arms hurt and his eyes stung, but he didn’t say a word to Snape – which was probably a good thing as Harry didn’t plan on having detention until his graduation.

Afterwards, he knew he needed to blow off some steam and stormed off to the lake which lay calm and untouched in the darkness, with only some single stars above, and sat in his favourite place, by a few rocks that offered at least some protection from the wind. Breathing heavily he stared onto the lake’s surface, not really seeing anything, and tried to calm down, but it was in vain. With a scream, he grabbed a few pebbles and tossed them into the lake, trying to concentrate on making them fly as far as possible. He ripped his cloak off and splashed icy water into his face and his arms, hoping the cold might make him calm again.

The cold water numbed his nerves at least and after a while he was able to sit down, knees pulled up to his chest, and to think.

Harry didn’t know for how long he sat by the lake, his thoughts running circles in his mind, but in the end he didn’t know more than he had before. Clearly he shouldn’t trust Flint, that much was obvious, but apart from that… he had no idea what to do about the First Task and he didn’t even want to think about the detentions that were waiting for him during the next weeks. With a heavy sigh, he heaved himself up and walked back to the castle, only now realizing that his fingers and toes were numb with cold and his teeth chattered noisily.

 

xXx

 

Ron was trying to do his Astronomy homework, he really was, but it was impossible to concentrate with Hermione running through the Common Room like she was on Speed and fretting about Harry. He didn’t want to admit it to himself, but he was worried about Harry, too. He truly had a knack for attracting Dark Lords, psychotic murderers and monsters of all shapes and sizes; but, Ron supposed, he was also unusually lucky as he had survived so far.

“Are you sure the Map is not in his trunk?” she asked for the umpteenth time.

“Yes, I am sure,” he moaned. Hermione had already made him search through all of Harry’s belongings _twice_ – he hadn’t wanted to as he knew that Harry was kind of touchy about that, but when Hermione Granger threatened to hex off your balls if you didn’t search through your currently-not-best-friend’s stuff right _now_ , you did that, no discussion.

“This is it, then!” she announced. “I’m going to McGonagall!”

“Maybe he just walked off randomly onto the Grounds,” Neville suggested who had kept rather silent during the last hours. Hermione had made him, Dean and Seamus go to all of Harry’s favourite places in the castle whereas she had checked the dungeons, thinking Harry might have gotten into a fight down there, and neither of the boys had been particularly eager about searching the cold corridors of Hogwarts.

“It is almost zero degrees outside and besides it is two hours after curfew!”

“It wouldn’t be the first time Harry came back after curfew,” Ron pointed out.

“But not without telling us! This is enough, what if… what if…” She yanked her hair again, making it even frizzier than before.

In this very moment, the portrait opened and Harry climbed through the hole. He looked pale and unhappy; and tiny crystals of ice glittered in his hair.

“Harry!” Hermione screeched, making everyone flinch. Harry flinched, too, and looked up at her.

“What?” he asked, sounding incredibly tired and Ron felt his bad conscience making itself known. He clenched his teeth; he would not give in, Harry was being a stupid and arrogant git and the fact that he happened to be tired did not change that.

“Where have you been?” Hermione demanded. “Do you have any idea how worried I have been? I left you for a few minutes to pick up a book and you come back five hours later – which is two hours after curfew!”

“My life is none your business!” Harry hissed at her, a sudden, biting anger in his voice that made Ron wince. “I would thank you not to nose into my private life. I had detention with Snape, if you must know.”

Hermione raised her chin – she was not one to give in easily either, Ron knew. All three of them were way more stubborn than was good for them, he thought in a moment of self-criticism. “And why is there ice in your hair?” she asked, her voice rising.

“I was by the lake,” Harry said gruffly.

“But it is ice cold outside and you don’t wear anything but your school uniform!” Hermione shrilled.

“Good thing you pointed that out for me, never would have realized. Do you have nothing else to do with your life but to nose after me?” His voice had risen, too, and with the last sentence he was screaming. Desperately, Ron wished they would go somewhere else to yell at each other – for his own sake as well as theirs, as every single Gryffindor student was staring at them.

“I’m not nosing after you!” Hermione shrieked and Ron saw tears welling up in her eyes.

“Well, see that you don’t because you’re not my mother!” With that, Harry stormed off, slamming the door of their dorm after him. Hermione slumped into a chair next to Ron and sniffed, wiping off her tears with the hanky Neville had discreetly offered her.

“I’m not that terrible, am I?” she asked meekly. Ron wished he could take her into his arms and comfort her, but firstly, he was currently not on friendly terms with her (thanks to his and Harry’s quarrel and Hermione being on Harry’s side), and secondly, he thought that Harry was not that wrong – though he shouldn’t have been such an ass about it.

“You’re not,” Neville assured her, patting her back shyly.

She smiled at him gratefully. “I think I might go to bed now,” she announced. “I don’t think I will get anything else done today.”

Just when she rose, Harry came back down the stairs, taking the last five steps in one jump. “Ron, did you go through my stuff?” he asked, his voice dangerously low. “You know I _hate_ that.”

Uh-oh. But denial was futile anyway. “I was searching for the Map,” he admitted.

Harry narrowed his eyes at him. “You know I always have it with me in my bag.”

“See, I told you so!” Ron said to Hermione and immediately Harry whirled around to her. Alright, maybe Ron shouldn’t have said that, being a gentleman and all that. Hermione flinched when Harry bowed over her suddenly, slamming his palms onto the arm rests of her chair.

“My private life and my whereabouts are none of your concern, am I making myself clear?” he hissed at her, almost inaudible. He whirled around. “Don’t search through my stuff ever again, Ron.” Ron winced; he had never been afraid of Harry, but now there was a dark fury in his eyes he had never seen before. But he would not be afraid of Harry, that was stupid; Harry was just a sixteen year old hormonal teenager with a bit of a temperament. With a final snort, said teenager turned around again and stormed off, slamming the door behind him even harder than before.

“Ugh, now we have to wait for another hour till he calms down before we can go to bed,” Seamus moaned. “Why does he have to take everything so personal? Dean goes through my stuff all the time.”

“Yeah, because you have a brain like Flubberworm and forget _everything_ ,” Dean mocked him with an eye roll.

Ron sighed. “Don’t go around telling this; but he once told me that he wasn’t allowed to own any toys as a kid, but he had a few broken toys of his cousin hidden in his pillow. His aunt used to search his room and apparently he got into a lot of trouble for it. He never said what they did, but I think it was really horrible. So because of his relatives, he is kind of… protective of his own stuff.” Ron felt the bad conscience creeping up onto him once more; Harry really did not have an easy life and Ron definitely wasn’t making it easier. And it wasn’t like he still believed Harry had put his name into the Goblet – after a few days it had been obvious to Ron, but he hadn’t wanted to admit that he was wrong and besides he could be really stubborn. It seemed about time to make up with Harry – probably tonight was not the best moment, however.

Hermione had begun crying again and wiped her eyes furiously with Neville’s hanky. One advantage of making up with Harry would consist of talking normally to Hermione again, too, instead of mostly ignoring each other. “His life is so hard,” she sighed. “I only want to help him, really, but I don’t know _how_. Everything I do seems to be wrong.”

“I think he doesn’t like restrictions,” Neville said quietly. “I mean, he rarely talks about his home life, but it seems they had really strict rules for him and he wasn’t allowed to do pretty much anything. I think the first time he was actually free was at Hogwarts – and if someone tries to impose rules upon him, he will react badly because he feels reminded of his relatives. Even if you mean well, Hermione.”

“I never thought about it this way,” Ron admitted, seriously impressed. “I thought he just… didn’t like rules and had no respect for authorities or something similar.”

“Well, that too,” Neville said with a small smile.

Hermione sighed again. “Well, I’m going to bed, good night, boys.” Her eyes downcast, she walked away slowly instead of marching briskly as she normally did.

Seamus rolled his eyes. “Great, she can go to bed now, but I’m not interested in another row with Harry… when will he calm down, what do you think, Ron?”

Ron shrugged. “I have no idea; we’ll have to find out. But we are Gryffindors, aren’t we?”

When they finally decided to go to bed, their dorm was dark and quiet. Harry’s curtains were closed and no sound came from behind them. Ron hesitated for a moment, then he quickly peeked behind the curtains. Harry was curled into a small ball, still wearing his school uniform instead of his pyjamas, a fierce frown on his forehead, but he seemed to be deeply asleep. Tomorrow he would try to make up with him, Ron told himself, it was about time to grow some balls and admit he had been wrong. He wanted Harry to be his best friend again, hanging out with Dean, Seamus and Neville just wasn’t half as fun and exciting as hanging out with Harry and Hermione.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, a first kiss! I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Please review and let me know what you think!


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: None of this is mine; everything belongs to the great Joanne K. Rowling.

A/N: Yay, another chapter! This one will contain Lemon, so don’t like, don’t read! Enjoy!

 

xXx

 

Chapter 3

 

_He is in a dark room, dark and cold. It smells like death and cold and like a fire burned down. He is waiting, staring into the darkness and cursing it because of his weak eyes. But he doesn’t want the sun to rise yet, not yet, as darkness is his time._

_In darkness, he can breathe freely, move freely through their ant-like minds like a shadow, watching their busy, plain thoughts with faint amusement. What does he care? None of their concerns and worries and joys matter to him. None of them matter to him; but the time is not ripe, not yet… Until then, he must dream; dream of darkness and of greatness, that had once been his, and of triumph, a triumph to come soon, but not yet, not yet._

 

xXx

 

The next morning, Harry awoke with a yawn and blinked into the darkness surrounding him. A quick _Tempus_ told him it was a few minutes after six and though he didn’t feel well rested he knew he wouldn’t fall asleep again. With a sigh, he rose quietly and marched into the bathroom. He took an icy shower to awake fully and decided to go for a fly although the sun was just creeping over the horizon. Nothing like speeding towards the ground at over 250 miles per hour to blow your mind free of spider web like thoughts.

This time, he smartly put on a warm winter cloak before he hopped onto his Firebolt and took off from their dorm window. The air was so cold it felt like breathing ice and there was a thin white layer of frost over the castle and the grounds. Everything looked calm and peaceful. Harry smiled; then he sped towards the ground, his feet almost brushing a roof’s corner. In a matter of seconds, any thoughts about the Tournament, his detentions and Marcus Flint were blown from his mind; forgotten in a rush of freedom and speed.

As soon as he was by the Quidditch Field he entertained himself by zooming around the Quidditch Hoops, always trying to avoid collision at the last moment possible. After a few minutes, his adrenaline had reached a satisfying level and he began training the Wronski Feint again. He had already done it a few times before, but today he wanted to try out how far down he could go.

He pulled up to 400 foot; then took into a steep dive, whooping loudly when the broom gained in speed quickly. The wind was but an icy rush along his face and the Quidditch Pitch was getting larger with the second – Harry pulled up, laughing breathlessly. About four foot above the ground, he could do better than that he knew.

Again and again, he rose up higher, sped down faster and pulled up later – at one foot above the ground he decided his brush with death had been near enough and satisfying for his need to forget about all his problems. A _Tempus_ told him it was already five minutes past nine – he was five minutes late for Transfiguration. “Fuck,” he moaned, turning his broom and speeding towards the Transfiguration classroom.

Luckily, one window had been left open (McGonagall was a fanatic for fresh air) and Harry ducked and sped through the opening, hopping from his broom in full flight. McGonagall and most pupils shrieked when he dashed in through the window. “Sorry, Professor,” he blurted out, “I forgot about the time.”

One hand clutching her chest, McGonagall said, sounding a bit breathless: “Detention, Mr. Potter! What were you _thinking_?”

 _Ugh_ , Harry thought, _not again_. “Sorry, Professor,” he repeated, “I didn’t want to be any later than I would be anyway.”

“Detention next Monday,” she told him. “At eight o’clock in my office.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m already in detention with Professor Snape.”

She sighed. “Make it the Monday after that, then.”

“There I’m already in detention with Professor Sprout.”

“Wednesday in two weeks it is, then.”

“I can’t even remember with whom, but I know that I’m in detention, too,” Harry said.

Again, she sighed. “Mr. Potter, you have hardly been a model student so far, but this year it is really a lot worse. I hope you are not trying to follow your father’s footsteps, concerning his amount of detentions.”

“I never knew my father so I wouldn’t know.” Harry was sick of people seeing his parents in him all the time; of course he wished he actually knew his parents, but he didn’t and so he had no idea whether he was like them. Besides, he was his own person, but most adults only tended to see his parents in him – Snape was probably the best example of that.

She looked at him sadly. “I know, Mr. Potter. Please get started with your work.” She hadn’t told him another date for detention and so Harry assumed he was lucky. Hastily, he sat next to Hermione who frowned at him and looked like she wanted to give him a good scolding, but she said nothing. “We have to turn these doorknobs into hamsters,” she said, pointing to a few hamsters sitting in front of her and the doorknobs next to her.

Though Harry didn’t see the point of turning a doorknob into a hamster, he knew a lot more about the theory behind it now and managed to transfigure his doorknob at his third try. McGonagall gave him a smile and five points to Gryffindor – not out of pity, Harry hoped. If there was one thing Harry didn’t like at all, it was pity. He didn’t want to be pitied. His life was sorry enough and pity didn’t help the least bit.

After the lesson, Hermione pushed a sandwich into his unsuspecting hands. “Eat,” she said sharply, “you have neither been at dinner nor breakfast. You must be starving.”

“I’m not,” Harry assured her and he actually wasn’t. He was used to going without food for days and so he didn’t mind missing a meal or two. He felt a bit hungry, but he could have waited until breakfast the next day without feeling like starving. Nevertheless, he obediently ate the sandwich. As long as he was chewing he wouldn’t have to answer Hermione’s questions at least. Hermione said nothing while he ate; instead she proofread her Charms Essay once more while they walked towards the Charms classroom, taking a detour via Gryffindor Tower to deposit Harry’s broom and pick up his school bag.

“Listen, I’m sorry about yesterday,” Harry said with a sigh. He knew he shouldn’t have yelled at Hermione like that, but he had been so angry; and Hermione demanding to know where he had been and scolding him for it had been just too much for his temper. “I didn’t want to yell at you, but…” He shrugged.

“It’s okay,” Hermione said and squeezed his hand. “I know you’re going through a really tough time. And I’m really not trying to nose after you, but I was just worried about you. You know you have a… knack for finding dangerous situations.”

“I am not trying to “find” dangerous situations,” Harry said, his voice rising though he didn’t want to get loud again. “They are finding me. It’s not like I have _“Voldemort, come and kill me”_ tattooed onto my face!”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Hermione said, but her voice had become a little shrill, too. “You know exactly what I am talking about – you seem to attract dangers! And look at you – flying out there all alone, in the dark! You are just so… imprudent.”

Harry snorted. “The sun was already rising, okay? About being imprudent, I promise not to take part unwillingly in the next Triwizward Tournament.”

“Oh Harry,” Hermione sighed, but she said no more.

After Charms, she actually dragged him to lunch and ordered him to eat properly for once. Harry tried not to be huffy, but he felt like a child belittled by his mother and he hated that. All his life, he had gotten along without someone mothering him, so Hermione didn’t have to start playing his mother now.

In sullen silence, he wolfed down his lunch, not even looking up once. “I’m going to the Library,” he announced to Hermione as soon as he was finished. She had Arithmancy now whereas he had a free period. She frowned at him and Harry rolled his eyes. “Merlin, I’m only going to the Library and I doubt Madam Pince will allow Voldemort to walk in there to borrow some books. Seriously, Hermione, you are _not_ my mother, okay?”

“Just be careful, alright?” she said. “Let’s meet in History then.”

Grateful for having fled from her, Harry took off to the Library to write his essay for History of Magic – conveniently he had a free period for that directly before the lesson. He chose a table at the very end of the Library; he didn’t fancy meeting someone he knew and even less meeting someone he didn’t know. People either tended to congratulate him for cheating his way into the Tournament or they insulted him and flashed their “Potter stinks!” badges into his direction. Harry didn’t mind them all that much (after all, he had had all his life to get used to being scorned), but it was nice to have some time for himself.

With a sigh, he pulled his History books from his bag and began to write his essay, trying to write the letters as large as possible; Ron’s favourite way of elongating his essays. Ron might be a stupid git right now, but he was the master of getting along with as little work as possible.

He was almost finished when someone sat next to him. “Potter.”

Harry groaned. “Fuck off, Flint.” On the list of people he definitely didn’t want to see today, Flint was currently in third place, following shortly after Voldemort and Snape.

Flint grabbed his chin. “We need to talk.”

“Not now,” Harry hissed at him. He still hadn’t made up his mind on how he was supposed to handle Flint – hell, he still didn’t know whether he had really enjoyed the kiss or not. Alright, he _had_ enjoyed it, but he didn’t know whether it was wise to repeat that experience with Flint.

“Later then,” Flint insisted. “After dinner, same alcove?”

Harry looked up at him. “Like you actually want to talk.”

Flint grinned. “We can also skip the talking part and immediately start doing the more interesting things.” His thumb stroked over Harry’s cheek and Harry brushed it off immediately.

“Would you kindly stop touching me like that!” Harry hissed at him, though it had felt really nice – almost like a caress.

“I’m not _kind_ ,” Flint said.

“I know,” Harry said drily. “Nevertheless, touch me again and I’ll break your fingers.”

Flint laughed. “Getting physical, are we?”

Harry smiled at him. “Getting afraid, are we?”

But Flint was not a Gryffindor, so insulting his courage didn’t impress him in the least; he just shrugged. “You can try, Potter. See you after dinner.”

 

xXx

 

During History of Magic Harry had begun writing the introduction for his Charms essay and napped peacefully for the rest of the lesson only to be awakened by Hermione poking him. He yawned and massaged the crick in his neck, feeling only semi-rested. “Harry?”

Harry closed his eyes again. He really didn’t feel like confronting Ron now, so he just said tiredly: “What is it, Ron? I don’t have time to deal with you.”

“I was wondering if we could talk,” Ron said carefully.

“We are already talking,” Harry pointed out while gathering his stuff. “So, yeah. Spill, whatever it is.”

“I meant, alone,” Ron said and Harry looked at him for the first time during their conversation. He had his hands stuffed in his pockets and shuffled his feet nervously. He didn’t look like he was about to start another fight with Harry.

“Fine,” he said, “but I don’t have a lot of time.”

“So?” Hermione interrupted them. “I thought today was the one day where you had no detention and you wanted to study the Summoning Charm with me. You’re still struggling with that one, Harry.”

Harry threw up his hands in defiance. “Well, I’ve still got something to do after dinner, and then I can learn with you, and then I have to… you know.” He didn’t want to mention going to Hagrid while everyone could listen in.

“Right, it’s Friday, I almost forgot.”

“Anyway, we can talk when we walk down to dinner,” Harry said to Ron shortly. It felt odd to be dismissive towards Ron like that, and Harry wished he could talk to Ron like he was his best friend and not a classmate he didn’t particularly like.

“Yeah, uhm, great.” Ron cleared his throat nervously, but he only started talking when they had left the classroom and took one of the lesser used routes towards the Great Hall. “Harry, I… listen, I want to apologize. I have been a real arse during the last weeks and I have to tell you that I haven’t believed you put your name in the Goblet for… weeks, actually. But I was kind of stubborn, you know, right?”

Harry really hadn’t expected that, so he stopped dead in his tracks and stared at Ron incredulously. “Are you serious? I mean, really serious?”

“Yeah, I want to be your best friend again,” Ron said with a nervous smile. “Not like I stopped, but… we weren’t exactly on friendly terms during the last weeks and I realized that you – and Hermione, of course – are way more important than my stupid pride and stubbornness. Besides, hanging out with Dean, Seamus and Neville gets kind of boring.”

“Took you long enough,” Harry said with a relieved laugh, bumping his shoulder into Ron’s. “Stubborn dunderhead.” He hadn’t expected Ron to apologize; he knew Ron was stubborn and he had supposed their quarrel might have gone on for months – because Harry certainly hadn’t been willing to give in. But he was glad, truly glad, that he and Ron were talking to each other again – Ron was just more _fun_ than Hermione.

“Twit,” Ron retorted and they grinned at each other. “Friends again?”

“Yeah, friends again,” Harry said, giving Ron a one-armed hug.

“Boys!” Hermione cried. “You are really terrible!”

“What?” Ron said. “We made up, didn’t we?”

Hermione shook her head in desperation. “You are impossible. And you too, Harry.”

“What did we ever do?” Ron demanded. “Women, Harry, you just can’t understand them. We stop fighting, exactly what she wants, and then she scolds us for that?”

Harry grinned and wrapped his arms around Ron and Hermione’s shoulders. “It was about time we start making mischief again, don’t you think?” It was only now that he realized this was the first time he felt whole for weeks – he just couldn’t be one hundred percent happy when one part of their trio was missing – it was like missing a part of his body.

“Absolutely,” Ron agreed, “d’you know anything about the First Task? Anything we can help you with?”

“Later,” Harry mouthed into his ear. “Hagrid might help me there; I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

“Now that sounds like an adventure,” Ron said with a grin. “I really missed getting into trouble.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Boys.”

 

xXx

 

During dinner Harry only snuck some looks towards Flint; he was too caught up by all of Ron’s hilarious comments and jokes; obviously he was trying to make up for the last weeks.

He had been snickering about a jest Ron had made about the Beauxbatons girls when he felt dark eyes burning on his skin. A careful glance revealed that Flint was staring at him (wasn’t that getting old?), obviously unbothered by his friend Derek-or-something Warrington (did Flint even have friends?) trying to gain his attention. Harry scowled at him and Flint licked his lips in response. Well, Harry knew he could do better than that, so he snatched a spoon for his chocolate pudding and tried to lick and suck the chocolate pudding from the spoon as seductively as he could. He knew he had succeeded when Flint’s face darkened again; and only Hermione giving him a weird look stopped him from licking his fingers.

Then, he almost smacked himself. _Really_ , had his brain gone up in smoke lately? Why on earth was he licking pudding from his spoon in order to seduce Flint? He needed to get that stuff sorted out.

“I’m off,” he announced, jumping to his feet as soon as he saw Flint leaving.

Ron looked a bit disappointed; obviously he enjoyed spending time with Harry again. “Where are you going?”

“No particular place,” Harry said.

“Harry’s going on a secret date, right?” Seamus drawled, insatiable curiosity for gossip shining in his eyes.

Harry rolled his eyes. Right, he was going for a date with fucking Marcus Flint – some snogging might be involved, however. Though it would probably be as un-date-ish as possible. “It’s not a date, Seamus,” he said. “It’s not like anyone fancies me.”

“Oh yeah, Diggory does,” Seamus said with a grin.

Ron actually dropped his spoon. “ _What?_ ”

“Yeah, you’re blind as a bat, we all know that,” Seamus said in a long-suffering tone, “but Harry, surely you don’t want to tell me that you never noticed the looks Diggory gave you?”

“Uhm,” Harry said nervously, instinctively looking at the Hufflepuff table over his shoulder – and, against all odds, Cedric actually flashed him a short smile. “Isn’t he going out with Cho Chang or something?” Harry never paid a lot of attention to the Hogwarts rumour mill as way too many rumours involved him and he didn’t even want to know what others thought about his private life.

Seamus made a dismissive gesture. “You truly live under a rock, don’t you, Harry?”

“Maybe I do, but at least I don’t waste my time for shit like that,” Harry snarled at him; feeling sudden anger boiling inside him. Seamus was talking bullshit and he knew it; and he was keeping him back from his not-date with Flint. Alright, he hadn’t thought that last part.

Without waiting for Seamus’ reply, he whirled around and stormed off. Slightly out of breath, he arrived in the corridor where Flint had snatched him last night, but he couldn’t remember the exact place – he didn’t have to, however, because a large hand grabbed his waist and pulled him into said alcove, behind the curtain.

“There you are,” Harry said, a bit breathless, and brushed Flint’s hand from his waist – with little success, however, as Flint easily caught both of his wrists with his right and placed his left on Harry’s waist again. “What’s up?”

“You wanna see the dragons?” Well, wasn’t Flint romantic, suggesting a stroll into the Forbidden Forest to check out some dragons they shouldn’t even know of?

“So you still insist on your dragon story?” Harry shot back, trying to wriggle out of Flint’s grip.

“Keep still, Potter! I told you it’s true; so you want to see them or not?”

“I’ll check them out on my own, assuming they even exist,” Harry said after a short thinking pause – there was no way he would tell Flint about Hagrid.

“Gryffindor through and through, eh? Roaming the Forbidden Forest all alone?”

“I never said I was alone,” Harry said, giving Flint a meaningful look – alright, _that_ had been weird.

“So?” Flint growled. “You take that pretty boy Diggory with you? Think he can protect you from anything? He might want to; but only because he’s after your arse.”

“And how would you know that?” Harry demanded, frowning. Obviously there was actually something going on with Cedric – how strange of Flint to mention that.

“Anyone with eyes can see that,” Flint drawled.

“Yeah, and you’re being subtle?”

Flint threw his head back and laughed; it was a dark, hoarse laugh and Harry found he actually enjoyed it. “I am the very example of being subtle,” he said, “or did anyone of your little Gryffindor friends notice?” His fingers had begun shoving Harry’s shirt up and casually stroking his bare skin. Harry felt goose bumps on his skin; probably they didn’t originate only from the cold, but also from Flint’s fingers tracing over his skin.

His friends hadn’t noticed, Harry had to admit, but of course only to himself. “And why would you care?”

“Why, Potter, it’s the very reason for our little talk here. You are mine,” he said in a casual, low voice that made a tingling wave of pleasure run through Harry’s veins.

“I don’t belong to anyone,” he objected, when he had gathered his wits again. “In particular not to you.”

“But you would like to, don’t you?” Flint’s fingers trailed over his face, grazing his skin only with the slightest touch. “You like it when I push you up to a wall and kiss you, don’t you?”

“I don’t!” Harry hissed at him though he did enjoy it – in some tiny, perverted part of his soul he had never known before. But he also enjoyed playing this weird game with Flint; a strange mixture of fight and hatred and lust. “You’d better leave me alone now.”

“Or what?” Flint didn’t wait for an answer, but leant down and kissed Harry; a hungry, almost greedy kiss; and Harry found himself responding, leaning into the kiss eagerly, and trying to dominate the kiss instead of Flint. Flint let go of his wrists and Harry immediately wrapped his arms around his neck to pull him further down whereas Flint pressed one arm against the wall to hold both of them up und lifted Harry up slightly, seemingly without effort.

 _Oh, that felt nice_ , Harry thought, his toes touching the floor just-so, enjoying the sensation of Flint’s warm, muscular body pressed against his own. In the meantime, Flint had untucked his shirt, his large hand pressed against the small of Harry’s back, stroking his skin almost tenderly. Deciding to make up leeway, Harry began to unbutton Flint’s shirt, letting his fingers trail over well-defined muscles.

With a jolt, Flint lifted him up completely and Harry instinctively wrapped his legs around him, feeling himself being shoved up against the wall. “Need both hands,” Flint groaned and interrupted their kiss to lick and suck and bite his way along Harry’s throat, Harry’s head lolling back, while he ripped open Harry’s shirt, tearing the fabric. Cool air swept over his exposed skin and Harry moaned with pleasure when Flint teased and bit and scratched his nipples mercilessly. His right wandered farther south; and all of a sudden he placed a firm hand on the bulge in Harry’s trousers.

Harry felt like being abruptly woken from a sleep and shoved Flint off with a gasp. Well-trained reflexes allowed Harry to land on his feet, but Flint didn’t even so much as stumble. “What do you think you are doing?” Harry hissed at him, crossing his arms over his bare chest and feeling oddly exposed.

“Why do you play the hard-to-get bitch?” Flint asked him, hungry eyes trailing over Harry’s body. “Don’t tell me you don’t want me to fuck you against this very wall.”

“I don’t want you to,” Harry snarled, trying to keep his voice down lest they be overheard. “It’s not like we…” He trailed off. He was willing to take stuff further than that, but most certainly not now.

Again, Flint laughed. “Aren’t you a sweet, innocent Gryffindor?” he asked, petting Harry’s cheek – he pulled his hand back quickly when Harry tried to bite him. “You think we should be a couple?”

“I most certainly _don’t_ think we should be a couple.” Harry scowled at him; but for a moment he entertained himself with the thought of marching Flint into the Gryffindor Common Room to present him as his boyfriend to Ron and Hermione, posing as his parents – their faces would most certainly be priceless.

“Then why not?” Flint asked, his eyes glittering dangerously.

“Well, firstly you are an asshole, secondly I don’t want you to fuck me, thirdly this is hardly the appropriate place.”

“That can be changed,” Flint offered with a grin. “If you want me to, I’ll carry you all the way to my bed like a princess.”

“That doesn’t change anything about the first two things, though.”

“I’ll not change myself just to fuck you,” Flint growled (for a moment, Harry was not sure whether that was a good or a bad thing), “but I might be willing to wait for a bit.”

“How gracious of you,” Harry said drily. “But does the fact that I don’t _want_ to go into your thick skull?”

“Didn’t feel like you didn’t want to.”

Harry bared his teeth at him. “Stop assuming stuff about me. I don’t want you to fuck me, get it?”

Unexpectedly, Flint smiled – well, probably only Flint would call it a smile. “Got it, Princess Potter.”

To Harry’s surprise, he was on his knees suddenly (which was not that easy in their tiny alcove), his mouth at the height of Harry’s crotch. Harry hesitated for a moment – he was certain (alright, _quite_ certain) Flint would leave him alone if he truly demanded it – but if he hadn’t wanted Flint to go further, he shouldn’t have kissed him back in first place, but told him to piss off. He swallowed, unsure about what he wanted, and then he swallowed again when Flint opened his trousers with quick, skilful hands, his thumb stroking along Harry’s erection.

But then he looked up at Harry, a questioning look in his eyes – and Harry felt like floating, one movement about to tip the balance – he nodded and closed his eyes. He groaned when Flint took his cock in his mouth – alright, that was probably the strangest thing that had ever happened to him: Marcus fucking Flint on his knees before him, his cock in his fucking mouth; and sucking and licking and swallowing; his hands pressing Harry into the wall – which was a good thing as he probably couldn’t stand on his own anymore.

His fingers dug into Flint’s shoulders, keeping him in place and – _oh, that felt amazing_ … Flint had a devious mouth and put it to good use; Harry let his head fall back, moaning throatily when waves of orgasm rolled over him; and he held onto Flint, gasping and panting and trembling.

Flint wiped over his mouth with the back of his hand and grinned at him while he stood up again, a bit awkwardly, as it was really cramped in their alcove. “Liked it?”

It took Harry a few minutes to regain his breath, but then he grinned back. “It was okay,” he drawled, trying to imitate the Slytherin’s way of speaking, but then a grin broke out on his face. “Just kidding, it was brilliant.” Flint’s eyes glistened darkly, but he said nothing; instead he just let his fingers trail over Harry’s face, cupping his cheeks and stroking along his throat. “I suppose it’s time for payback,” Harry said, awkwardly struggling to close his pants and kneel onto the floor.

“You don’t have to, you know,” Flint said roughly, in an unexpected fit of generosity.

“But I want to,” Harry said, and it was the truth – he definitely hadn’t expected their not-date to end up like this, but now he felt brave and also curious – _Gryffindor through and through_ , he thought sarcastically. Inhaling deeply, he unzipped Flint’s trousers and shoved down his trousers and boxers – alright, Flint was _truly_ generously endowed, Harry thought with a slight flare of panic, but a thrill of excitement shot through his veins when he closed his mouth around Flint’s hard, pulsing cock.

 _So far, so good_ , he thought, without having any idea what he was doing, but he decided to simply imitate Flint and began to move his head back and forth, trying to lick and suck which was harder than he had anticipated. Flint’s fists dug into his hair almost painfully, shoving his head nearer towards the base of his cock. Harry almost gagged when the head of his cock hit the back of his throat and pulled his head back.

“Don’t do that,” he snarled at Flint, “or I’ll bite you.” He bared his teeth warningly.

Flint grinned down at him, his fingers curling into Harry’s hair almost tenderly. “You have a thing for biting, don’t you? But keep going.”

Well, of course he had, Harry thought, it was pretty much the only way he had a chance of actually hurting Flint – there was no doubt that Flint was physically superior to him and in a brawl he would most certainly lose. With one last warning scowl into Flint’s direction, he licked along his throbbing shaft, tasting salty precum; preparing himself, he took one deep breath and took Flint’s pulsing cock back into his mouth, trying to get used to the hot and heavy feeling in his mouth.

He began slowly, propping himself up against Flint’s well-muscled thighs, licking and sucking, slowly taking more and more of Flint’s cock into his mouth, rubbing the base of his cock with his right. He took as much as he could without gagging; then he swallowed (which was harder than he had thought) and Flint moaned, his thighs trembling slightly – if Harry had been able to smirk, he would have had the fattest grin ever in his face. Leaning backwards, he bobbed his head slightly, rocking back and forth, and swallowing, swallowing; eliciting a hard and fast rhythm of moans from Flint – and then he came into Harry’s mouth and Harry was busy swallowing as much as he could, though he coughed and spluttered and almost fell backwards, if Flint hadn’t caught him and pulled him up.

Both of them were breathing heavily and Harry felt like he was burning from the inside; he had never felt that feverishly hot before. Both of them were silent for a few minutes; Flint had closed his pants and placed his hands on Harry’s hips possessively whereas Harry lightly stroked the hot, sweat-slick skin on Flint’s bare chest. In the same rhythm his breath calmed down, Harry’s mind came down from its high, too, and he felt panic rising in his chest. What had possessed him to do _that_?

“Not bad,” Flint said finally, “not bad at all for a virgin.”

Immediately, Harry’s fury flared up. “Shut the fuck up,” he hissed.

“But you still need some exercise,” Flint continued smoothly, leering at him. “What about later tonight?”

Harry snorted. “Like that would happen.”

Flint reclined against the wall casually, his eyes wandering over Harry’s body lazily. “I wouldn’t mind,” he said, “you’re… unexpectedly gifted. But I’ll see you.”

Before Harry could reply, he lifted him up again (that felt really nice, Harry thought, and then wanted to kick himself) and gave him one hard, long kiss that tasted of cum, but Harry also thought there was the faintest taste of dark chocolate, so dark it was not sweet any longer, but tasted of thrilling bitterness.

“Sweet dreams,” Flint said with a dark grin and stepped out of the alcove into the darkness of the corridor, but he turned around again. “You look hot with cum on your face, you know that?”

“Arsehole,” Harry hissed at him and fumbled for his wand, but Flint just leered at him and strolled off. “ _Scourgify!_ ” Harry cast the cleaning spell on his face – and a “ _Reparo!_ ” on his ripped shirt – and decided to pass a bathroom on his way back, just to be sure. His way back would be long, he knew, for he had a lot of thinking to do.

 

xXx

 

A/N: I hope you’re still enjoying gruff!Flint! Please let me know what you think!


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: None of this is mine; everything belongs to the great Joanne K. Rowling.

A/N: Thank you very much for the kudos and bookmarks, you guys!

Enjoy this chapter!

xXx 

Harry didn’t know for how long he sat in the alcove, knees pulled up to his chest, breathing deeply and trying to calm down. This was probably the weirdest experience he had ever had in his life – he still could not believe what he had done.

He had gone way farther than he had wanted to – hell, three months ago he had just vaguely realized that he liked men better than women and now he had given Flint a fucking blow-job, in fucking public (being hidden by a thread-bare curtain most certainly wasn’t private), what was going _on_ with him?

What had possessed him to do _that?_ What had he been _thinking?_ He never should have done it, it should never have happened, that much was clear; but he couldn’t deny that he had enjoyed it. There was something about Flint, his imposing posture, his dark eyes, his crude comments that made goose-bumps run over his skin. There was something thrilling about him, a dark pleasure in doing something that was forbidden and enjoying it.

But he knew he should not, _could not_ trust Flint. He was widely known for being an arsehole and a brute with a mean temper (though Harry had found him to be rather dark-humoured than mean so far) and he certainly didn’t refrain from physical violence. Besides, he was a Slytherin and you couldn’t trust them (Harry didn’t believe every Slytherin was evil, but he had just too many bad experiences with them) – even if they were not conspiring for Harry’s downfall, they always had some scheming going on. And hadn’t his parents been Death Eaters? Harry vaguely remembered Mr. Weasley mentioning the name Flint once when he had spoken about Death Eaters. Of course that didn’t mean that Flint was a Death Eater – or would become one, too – but it was not unlikely, either. And he still had no idea whether Flint had told him the truth about the bloody dragons.

Everything was because of the bloody Tournament, he decided, it was making a way worse mess of his life than it had been before. If he hadn’t been forced to take part in the tournament, none of this would ever have happened and he would probably be lounging in Gryffindor Tower with Ron and Hermione right now, without being haunted by images of certain Slytherins.

 _Fuck_. He groaned and ran his hands through his tousled hair. How did he manage to bring himself into these no-easy-way-out situations all the time? Maybe Hermione had been right, after all, that he had a knack for finding dangers – but he hadn’t asked Flint to shove him into dark, tiny alcoves and snog him senseless and then suck his cock, had he? The taste still lingered on his tongue, strong and salty, but definitely not bad. Alright, he had a serious problem going on here.

He knew he should rather avoid Flint during the next days (better even, for the rest of his days in Hogwarts), but he knew he probably wouldn’t be able to – firstly, Flint could be really persistent, secondly Harry didn’t want to avoid him all that much; he was actually looking forward to repeating what they had done earlier.

With a sigh, he stood up and began his way back to Gryffindor tower. It was later than he had anticipated as the Common Room was almost deserted; only some lone Seventh Years were lounging in a corner, deeply into a game of Gobstones; and Ron, Hermione, Dean and Seamus were sitting by the fire.

Hermione was reading, of course, but the boys were playing Exploding Snap – Ron was obviously losing as he had quite some prominent smudges of ash on his face and his collar. With a grunt that might be interpreted as a greeting, Harry slumped into the chair next to them and wished he could fall asleep immediately. He felt incredibly tired.

“You’re late,” Hermione said sharply. “It is one hour after curfew.”

“Really?” Harry asked, unbothered – during all his time in Hogwarts, he had never truly cared about curfew, he thought it was stupid anyway.

Hermione closed her book with a _thump_. “We will study the Summoning Charm tomorrow, it is too late today. I am going to bed. Good night, everyone.”

“Night, Hermione,” Harry mumbled, smiling at her tiredly; their classmates, still involved in their game, grumbled something incomprehensible.

“Don’t forget about Hagrid,” Hermione whispered into his ear as she passed him, “also, do something about your hair, you look a lot more ruffled than normally.” She pierced him with a dark stare and Harry hastily tried to flatten his hair, hoping she did not draw the right conclusions – of course he had forgotten to check himself in a bathroom. She raised her eyebrows and disappeared into her dorm.

Ron yelped when a whole deck of cards exploded into his face and Harry coughed as he suddenly found himself in a cloud of ash, too.

“That was a spectacularly stupid move,” Dean said with a grin, stretching back into his chair while Ron grumbled and coughed and shook ash from his hair.

“So, what was your date like?” Seamus asked casually, looking up and down Harry’s body.

“It was _not_ a date!” Harry hissed at him.

Seamus smiled. “So what’s the reason your shirt is buttoned up the wrong way? And why your hair looks a lot worse than normally?”

Harry frowned at him. “Yeah, like I pay a lot of attention to my exterior in the dead of the night.” But on the inside he was panicking: Could they see it? Did they see in his face that he had sucked Flint’s cock? Surely not, because at least Ron would have freaked out already.

“What did you do with that girl – or was it a boy?” Seamus drawled.

“I didn’t do anything!” Harry hissed at him. “Would you please shut up about that bullshit; not every guy is constantly making out with everyone he meets like you do!”

Not paying Seamus any more heed, he left to pick up his Invisibility Cloak from their dorm and sneaked out of the Common Room which was not too hard as neither of the two groups still awake paid attention to the portrait hole.

 

xXx

 

About half an hour later, Harry stomped through the Forbidden Forest, trying to follow Hagrid and Madam Maxime, stepping into puddles, stumbling over branches and cursing quietly under his breath. Thorns scratched his face and sometimes he whirled around because he thought there were shadows moving behind him, but he could not see a living being.

“Quiet now,” Hagrid whispered (as far as he could whisper, anyway) and Harry was not sure whether Hagrid indicated Madam Maxime or him, but his mouth fell open when he saw the dragons.

Flint had been right. The people organizing the Tournament were actually mad enough to bring four very alive, very dangerous and very furious dragons into a Forest (fire breathing dragons in a forest, who had ever come up with that brilliant idea?) and then they had the audacity to actually expect the Champions to survive?

Harry was still busy gaping at the largest dragon which was screeching loudly and smashing its long tail with many thorns into one side of its cage when Hagrid’s booming voice interrupted his thoughts.

“What kind o’ dragon is he?” he called out to one of the men trying to calm the dragons – in vain, of course.

“Hey there, Hagrid! It’s a Hungarian Horntail,” a voice answered – Harry knew that voice, wasn’t that Charlie, Ron’s brother? How weird. “And she’s a lady, besides.”

“And the Champions fight ‘em?” Hagrid asked – for Harry’s sake, he hoped.

“Nah, that would be mad,” Charlie said, “they just have to steal a golden egg which is hidden between their own eggs.”

Harry wanted to rip off his Invisibility Cloak, run right up to these madmen and yell at them at the top of his lungs. Had they gone completely over the bend? How on earth was Dumbledore allowing this?

Well, he just had to steal a golden egg from a mother dragon guarding her eggs; wouldn’t that be a piece of cake? Harry knew next to nothing about dragons besides the fact that they could fly, breathe fire and were obviously angered easily. Were dragons even part of their curriculum? Harry doubted that very severely and he wondered how the judges expected the Champions to fulfil the task.

The screeching Horntail didn’t look like she might be lulled to sleep by a flute – and Harry could hardly bring Fawkes with him to blind the dragon. Well, he thought sarcastically, at least he had some experience fighting highly dangerous magical creatures – which might even give him a slight advantage over the other Champions – if only the Task were not impossible in the first place.

Why did the thrice-damned Goblet have to pick him? Couldn’t he have picked _anyone_ else? He would enjoy watching Malfoy trying to get past this dragon _very_ much.

Hagrid and Madam Maxime had obviously seen enough of the dragons as they turned for the way back (not without Hagrid giving the dragons a longing look); hastily Harry scrambled out of the way and trooped back behind them. So obviously that was what Hagrid thought to be a romantic date – he snickered at the thought that Flint had suggested this very same stroll to him – oh fuck, Flint, how had _he_ known about the dragons?

Harry decided to ask him as soon as he saw him next – he’d better have a good explanation for that – and to skip sleep tonight in favour of finding out as much as possible about dragons.

 

xXx

 

Dawn found him deeply asleep, however, his head placed uncomfortably on a thick tome called _How to Care for Your New Exciting Pet – Everything You Need to Know about Fostering Dragons_. He awoke to someone picking his finger repeatedly and raised his head drowsily – so much about skipping sleep. Hedwig sat on the table before him, looking at him reproachfully with her large, yellow eyes.

“Hello, beautiful,” he yawned, stroking her feathers. “Don’t look at me like that; I didn’t _plan_ to fall asleep here.” Hedwig blinked and Harry blinked back; things were getting really weird when he felt scolded by his own owl.

She held out her foot and Harry unfastened a parchment from her talon. “Thank you, sweetheart,” he said, stroking her soft feathers. The letter was from Sirius and it held no unnecessary information: _Harry, meet me at the fireplace of Gryffindor Tower tonight at 1 am. S._

Sirius would probably Floo there, Harry pondered, so he’d better make sure Gryffindor Tower was empty by the time – and maybe Sirius even had a brilliant idea about the dragon. Apparently, he and Harry’s father had been quite the pranksters at school and hopefully he was just as brilliant as Fred and George.

Hedwig nudged his hand and Harry smiled at her. “You’re right, I’d better get out before Madam Pince will find me here. It’s not like there are any useful books in here.” At least, Harry knew a lot about dragons now, but the more he knew the less hope he had. Dragons seemed to be invincible; their skin was practically impenetrable and they were incredibly fast, agile and strong – and there was the part about flying and breathing fire.

With a sigh, he got up and returned to Gryffindor Tower. Luckily no one was awake when he sneaked back in and Harry looked at his bed longingly – he knew he probably shouldn’t sleep, but surely five minutes of lying down were okay, right?

_The sun is rising and he hates it, hates the light that creeps in through the barred windows, the light that weakens him, the light that shows off every degenerate bit of the house he is in, every bit of dirt on the windows, every bit of dust in the corners and on the floor and every bit of the pathetic fool Wormtail who is trembling on the floor before him._

_“You are useless,” he hisses and Wormtail sobs, writhing on the ground. “You have failed me over and over again, and now you cannot even maintain a house?”_

_“Forgive me, my Lord,” he sobs, sniffling into his ragged sleeve._

_He snorts with disgust. Truly, could he have found anyone even more useless? “Stop writhing on the floor and do something useful for once in your life. Clean this room immediately or –”_

“Harry? Harry! Wake up, Harry!” Harry moaned. He was under water, floating in darkness, an eerie, quiet darkness, and something was pulling him up; but it was impossible because there were greedy fingers on his wrists and ankles, pulling him back down – _a high-pitched shriek that is like music to his ears, “useless traitor, you are a disappointment to anyone you have ever met”_ – but thin traces of light were trickling before his eyes and Harry tried to move towards them – _and he screams, finally_ – “Harry!”

Harry jerked awake and immediately slumped back. His scar hurt like hell and he vaguely recalled a weird dream he had just had – something about cleaning? How strange.

“Finally!” Ron said, sounding irritated. “I’ve been yelling at you for almost fifteen minutes.”

“Oh,” Harry said vaguely, “well, I’m awake now.” The pain in his scar was fading and he could scarcely remember it had hurt at all.

Ron snorted. “About bloody time. Dinner is in two hours and Hermione is freaking out, as usual.”

Harry groaned and buried his face in his hands. “Perfect, just what I need.”

“And Seamus is still talking some kind of bullshit about you having a date and apparently an exhausting sex life. But you didn’t have a date, did you?” Ron squinted at him and Harry rolled his eyes.

“No, it wasn’t, honestly, Ron. But it doesn’t matter anyway as I have a very serious problem right now: A dragon.”

“Huh?” Ron said, but then his face paled. “You mean – no way! The First Task?”

“Yep,” Harry said, suddenly feeling oddly calm about it. “I tried to read up everything I could find about them last night.”

Someone knocked on the door. “Harry? Ron?” Hermione called.

“Come in!” Ron called back and turned back to Harry. “Are you serious?”

“Serious about what?” Hermione asked, marching into the room. “Serious about staying out all night and sleeping all day and making me worry horribly?”

“Don’t you start with that again,” Harry groaned. “Hermione, I’m having a problem here. For the First Task, I have to steal a golden egg which is hidden among the eggs of a fucking mother _dragon_.”

Hermione shrieked, clasping her hands before her mouth. “They can’t do that! They wouldn’t!”

“The dragons are already here,” Harry said drily. “Saw them with my own eyes last night. And they are really, really huge. And really, really scary.”

“But dragons are almost impossible to overcome!” Hermione gasped. “Normally, there are at least six dragon keepers for handling one dragon! They can’t do this! It’s way too dangerous! You might die!”

“Thank you for cheering me up,” Harry said and Hermione immediately faltered.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. But… I’m sure we will find a way. I mean, you already killed a Basilisk and a dragon can’t even kill you with its eyes.”

“Wonderful,” Harry said, “and I already worried about having to fight blind.”

“Stop being so cynical!” Hermione hissed at him. “Now, as I was saying, dragons must surely have some weak points. I’ll immediately go to the Library and –”

“You needn’t bother looking through the Care for Magical Creatures section,” Harry interrupted her. “I already did that last night and now I know how often to clip a dragon’s toe-nails, but I haven’t learned anything helpful.”

“At least you spent your last night doing something useful,” Hermione said. “Ron and I will go to the Library now and we will find out as much as we can, won’t we, Ron?”

“Uhm… yeah, of course. I mean, it can’t be that hard, can it? If they expect Diggory to make it past a dragon?”

“Ron!” Hermione reprimanded him, but Harry groaned again. He had completely forgotten about Cedric, who probably really didn’t know, being oh-so-honest-and-fair, but it wouldn’t be fair to him, if he didn’t know, but the other Champions did.

“Oh yeah, and Snuffles will Floo in the Common Room tonight at one am, any ideas?”

“I’ll ask Fred and George for some dungbombs,” Ron said after a few seconds. “They still owe me for not ratting them out about some stuff they did to Mum’s kitchen equipment during summer.”

Hermione wrinkled her nose. “I guess it is necessary. Do you think Sirius might have any good ideas?”

“I hope so,” Harry said. “If he doesn’t, I’m really lost – even more lost than now, I mean. But give me ten minutes and I’ll come to the Library with you.”

“You won’t,” Hermione said sharply, “do you think I have not noticed you haven’t done any of your homework for next week? Ron and I will go to the Library and you will sit down and do your homework. Or do you want to receive even _more_ detention?”

Harry grumbled, but gave in after a few more of Hermione’s strict remarks – she was right, after all, assuming he _did_ survive the First Task he would probably have to face detention until the end of the school year if he didn’t do at least some of his homework.

 

xXx

 

During dinner, they sat apart from the other Gryffindors, caught up in a heated whispered discussion. Harry felt an odd pang of happiness about their trio being at work again – he had truly missed this.

“I think the idea with the runes might work,” Ron whispered. “You only have to draw the runes for them not to breathe fire and not to fly –”

“It wouldn’t work,” Hermione whispered back, frowning. “You would have to draw the runes around the dragon and she would probably attack you while you do so and you still would have to step into the rune circle to get the egg.”

Ron looked crestfallen. “It could have been so easy.”

Harry had to smile. “It was worth a thought. Did you find anything else?”

“Dragon fire is almost impossible to put out,” Hermione said slowly, “and their skin is practically impenetrable, except for their eyes and on certain points of their belly.”

“So you just have to hit her eyes!” Ron said excitedly – a bit too loudly, for Hermione hissed at him.

“But she will be moving,” Harry argued. “And what if I don’t hit? I don’t have a lot of time – and I am not _that_ good at aiming at larger distances – there’s a reason I’m a Seeker and not a Chaser, you know.”

“Probably it will be your best chance, though,” Ron said. “We’ll go back to the Library tomorrow, and maybe Sirius has an even better idea, but I don’t think there will be a lot of possibilities.”

Harry was distracted from their discussion when he saw Flint walking by – giving him a short grin as he passed. Harry narrowed his eyes at him – Flint still owed him an explanation for the dragon thing. Flint tilted his head towards the doors and Harry nodded slightly, frowning after him as Flint strolled out as though he didn’t have a care in this world.

“I’ll see you in the Common Room, okay?” Harry said to Ron and Hermione as soon as Flint had left the Great Hall.

“Are you alright, Harry?” Hermione asked softly, touching his hand lightly. “You have been a bit… secretive lately.”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Harry said, “except for the dragon. And the Tournament. And all my detentions and my lack of sleep. Don’t worry, Hermione.” He smiled at her, but Hermione didn’t look reassured.

“If you think so,” she said slowly.

Harry smiled at them and hurried out of the Great Hall, peeking left and right for Flint. A hand grabbed him from behind and Harry whirled around. “Would you stop doing that?” he hissed at Flint. “Can’t you just walk up and say “hello” like a normal person?”

Flint just grinned. “Wherever would be the fun in that? So, what’s up, Potter?”

“Not here,” Harry said. “Let’s go somewhere else.”

“Can’t wait,” Flint breathed into his ear, his fingers trailing over Harry’s throat, and Harry shuddered slightly, he was a bit sensitive there. Annoyed, he brushed Flint’s hand off – he would not let himself be distracted.

After a few turns, Harry marched them into an abandoned classroom and closed the door carefully behind them. Flint was leaning against the wall, watching him silently and Harry tried to look threatening, but Flint was more than a head taller than him and at least twice as heavy, so it just didn’t _work_. So he settled for a scowl and snarled: “How do you know about the dragons?”

“So you’ve seen them?” Flint asked.

“Obviously,” Harry said, “so, how do you know?”

“Do you really think it is that easy to smuggle four grown dragons from Romania to Britain without anyone realizing? Almost everyone in the Department for the Regulation of Magical Creatures knows and my father happens to work there.”

“Really,” Harry said doubtfully.

Flint rolled his eyes. “Do you have any idea how many permits are necessary to relocate a dragon?”

“I don’t,” Harry retorted, “and I don’t really care. But…” He hesitated.

“Not as exciting as you had thought?” Flint asked, raising his eyebrows. “You thought I had infiltrated the committee organizing the Tournament?”

“Somehow I did,” Harry admitted; and Flint laughed that dark, husky laugh that Harry had come to enjoy. “But why did you tell me?”

Flint grinned. “As opposed to what you probably think of me, I do not enjoy watching people being roasted by dragons. And particularly not someone who is surprisingly… gifted at certain things, but don’t overwork your pretty head on the details,” Flint drawled. “Come here.”

“I don’t have time for that tonight,” Harry said though he wanted nothing but being touched, being kissed by Flint. Besides he was not all that convinced by Flint’s explanations, but he still needed to come up with a clever idea how to extricate the truth from him. “I have to work on surviving next Friday. You don’t happen to know how to actually get past a dragon, do you?”

Flint sighed and spread his arms. “Come here.”

This time, Harry couldn’t resist and walked over, leaning his forehead against Flint’s reassuringly warm and broad chest, feeling oddly secure in the muscular arms around him. Flint’s left rested on the small of his back and somehow it felt as though it belonged there, Harry thought. For a moment, he closed his eyes and breathed in Flint’s scent, dark and musky and indescribably alluring. “Don’t think about what the dragon can do, but about what you can do. What are you good at?”

“Nothing,” Harry said immediately – and it was true, except for Defense he didn’t really excel in any class – not as much as Hermione at least – but he could hardly duel the dragon, could he?

Flint snorted and put his fingers under Harry’s chin, tilting his head slightly backwards so Harry had to look up at him. “I know that’s not true,” he said. “If I have to listen to Malfoy complaining one more time how much better than him you and Granger are – only because you are the teachers’ pets, of course – I’m gonna break his stuck-up neck. What are you good at, Potter?”

Harry couldn’t help but snicker – it was kind of satisfying that Malfoy was actually jealous of him and Hermione. “Well, I guess I’m good at flying,” he said slowly. “And I’m good at cooking. And cleaning. Kind of useless, though.”

“If you don’t want to seduce the dragon with your superior cooking skills, yes,” Flint said, “but you might try that with me.” He grinned and pulled Harry closer. “But flying, that’s an idea.”

“But I won’t have my broom,” Harry said.

Flint rolled his eyes. “Merlin, you are such a _Muggle_ , Potter. Remember that stick of wood in your pocket?”

Harry blushed deeply. “Um, right,” he said. “But I’m not sure I can actually outfly a dragon.”

“You’ll have to find out,” Flint said. “But I know you’re the best flyer in the school – you are a lot better than Malfoy, unfortunately – and you are light and fast and have amazing reflexes.”

“Stop it,” Harry mumbled. His face was burning with embarrassment though he felt really proud about what Flint had said.

Flint leered at him. “So what do I get for showering you with compliments?”

Harry kicked his shin. “Arsehole,” he said sullenly and tried to free himself from Flint’s embrace, but it was in vain.

“Not even a kiss?” Flint asked, his eyebrows raised. Harry sighed; what did it matter? It was not like he didn’t _want_ to. He stood on his tiptoes, using Flint’s shoulders to prop himself up to Flint’s height. When he felt Flint’s warm breath on his lips, he parted them slightly and immediately Flint was on him, plundering his mouth mercilessly, his hands pulling Harry even closer.

Harry moaned, enjoying the feeling of Flint’s tongue in his mouth, Flint’s hot lips on his own; and then Flint’s mouth wandered along his jaw, kissing and nibbling along his throat. Harry let his head fall back, offering himself unto his skilled mouth. With deft fingers, Flint unbuttoned the first buttons of Harry’s shirt, exposing Harry’s collarbones and then his chest – and at the gust of cool air Harry found his wits again.

“Stop!” he gasped and tried to pull back.

Surprisingly, Flint actually stopped and looked at him with a grin. “Don’t like it, Potter?”

“Stop it,” Harry repeated and buttoned his shirt up again. “It’s not like I don’t enjoy, but I don’t have time tonight.”

“Tomorrow then?” Flint asked, his fingers trailing along Harry’s forearm.

“I don’t know,” Harry said. “I don’t think so, I have a lot to do. Preparing for the First Task, I guess.”

Flint brushed Harry’s hair back behind his ear, an oddly tender gesture. “See that you do, then. I would hate to see you die in a week.”

Harry had to smile despite himself; wasn’t Flint romantic? Not wishing to see him die was probably almost like a declaration of his love. “Good night then,” Harry whispered, removing Flint’s hands from his waist – oddly, he felt a bit chilly then.

Flint just nodded and watched him depart, his dark eyes burning into Harry’s back as he left the room.

 

xXx

 

A/N: Hope you liked this chapter! Not overly exciting, I know, but the next chapters will be a lot more exciting, I promise. Please let me know what you think!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Here we go again! Thanks a bunch for the comments and kudos! Also, I just posted a Harry/Marcus-One-Shot, so if you ship Harry/Marcus and if you like my stories, go and check it out! :)

As turned out, Sirius did not have a brilliant idea to solve Harry’s problem, but he had suggested attacking the dragon’s eyes, too, with a conjunctivitis curse which did not convince Harry at all. But he hadn’t wanted to talk about the dragon anyway (“Dumbledore won’t let you die, Harry, don’t you worry” – well, Dumbledore had been exceedingly successful at protecting him from dangers so far, Harry thought sarcastically), but he had wanted to warn Harry about Death Eaters, in particular Karkaroff.

So far, Harry had not paid him any interest, but he promised Sirius to be extra-careful which elicited a snort from Ron that he tried to turn into a cough. As soon as Sirius had left, Harry turned to frown at Ron. “What was that for?”

“I’m sorry, Harry,” Ron said, grinning, “but you are just never careful. It’s not like you mean it, but you run head-first into any danger.”

Harry sniffed. “I don’t. Dangers come and find me.”

“Yes, we’ve been over that,” Hermione said loudly. “So, the conjunctivitis curse it is, then.”

“I don’t know,” Harry said, hesitating, “I think I might have… kind of an idea. I thought maybe I could fly, you know. And get my broom to me with _Accio_.”

“No!” Hermione said immediately. “It’s way too dangerous!”

“It’s gonna be dangerous anyway,” Ron argued. “I think it might be worth a try. But do you think you can outfly a dragon?”

“I’ll have to find out,” Harry said, grinning though he didn’t feel like it.

“It’s not funny,” Hermione said sharply. “Harry, are you sure you can manage this? And we will have to exercise _Accio_!”

“We will,” Harry said, “I promise, I will be as careful as possible and I will outfly this bloody dragon and then I’ll hit it with a conjunctivitis curse; and I don’t know how, but I will make it.”

Hermione sighed. “I will probably die with worry just watching you, but I know, if anyone can make it, it’s you.” She squeezed his hand, and Ron took his other hand, squeezing, too, and for a while they just looked at each other.

“You’re not alone,” Ron whispered hoarsely. “You’re not alone, Harry.”

 

xXx

 

The next morning Hermione, who received the Daily Prophet every day, snorted at the first page and crumbled it up into a ball. “This newspaper is full of shit,” she announced and Harry frowned at her as Hermione usually didn’t resort to cursing.

“What is it?” he asked.

“You don’t even want to know,” Hermione said darkly. “But you might want to brace yourself for the next days.”

Harry raised his eyebrows, but before he could say anything there was an uproar of laughter from the Slytherin table where Malfoy had obviously told something funny. Most of them turned into Harry’s direction and snickered at him.

“What is it?” he asked Hermione sharply.

She sighed. “Remember that article about the Tournament that was mostly about you and didn’t even mention Cedric?”

“Yeah,” Harry said slowly.

“Well, obviously they received a lot of letters about it and they decided to continue their tragic story about how you are a poor orphan who is struggling in school.”

Harry shrugged. “Well, I _am_ an orphan and currently, I _am_ struggling at school, so there’s not too much bullshit about it.”

“It is more about the way it is written,” Hermione said and tried to uncrumble her newspaper. “Ahem… _the poor orphan boy who rather prefers to spend his nights outside of Gryffindor Tower crying about his parents’ deaths, alone in the huge castle_ …”

“Ugh,” Harry said, but he was more than relieved that they didn’t mention he rather spent his nights making out with certain Slytherins.

“Or that one: _This year he struggles in school more than ever, and it makes us wonder: Will he be strong enough to survive the First Task? Will the scars his parents’ deaths have left on his fragile mind…_ and so on and so on.”

The snicker had taken over Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff table and even a few Gryffindors were laughing when Malfoy pretended to break down in tears and then began his infamous re-enact of Harry fainting on the train in his third year. _If his parents were dead and he heard them die whenever he meets a Dementor, he probably wouldn’t find it that funny_ , Harry thought bitterly, but he didn’t say a word and continued eating his breakfast in silence.

He was incredibly relieved when he had eaten his last bite and immediately got up to flee the Great Hall, deftly avoiding Colin Creevey’s outstretched hands, obviously trying to get hold of his cloak. Probably he wanted Harry to sign the article or something.

Outside the Great Hall, he saw Cedric hanging about with a cluster of his ever-snickering friends. “Cedric!” he called, deciding that he’d better tell him, now or never.

“Do you need someone to comfort you when you cry out there, all alone?” one of Cedric’s friends drawled, looking at Harry with obvious contempt; but Cedric smiled at him.

“Don’t worry about the article,” he said, “I know nothing of it is true.”

Harry ignored both of their comments. “Can I talk to you, Cedric? Alone, I mean.”

“Ced’s not interested in giving you comfort,” another of his friends said, laughing with the others. “Sorry about that, Pothead.”

For some reason, Cedric blushed deeply. “Ignore them, Harry, please.”

Harry shrugged. “It’s not like I pay much attention to what others think of me,” he said. “Are you coming or what?”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Cedric said hastily, following him into a seldom used corridor. Oddly, Harry felt reminded of his trysts with Flint, alone in empty corridors, doing things they were not supposed to do.

“I wanted to tell you that I believe you,” Cedric said and Harry looked at him questioningly. “About the Goblet, I mean. That you didn’t put your name it. Um. Yeah.” He smiled nervously, shuffling his feet.

Harry was not sure what that was about and decided to ignore it. “Yeah, uhm, thanks. About the First Task: do you know anything about it?”

Cedric looked at him, his eyes huge and grey and innocent. “No, we’re not supposed to. Do you?”

“Yeah,” Harry said slowly, “and I think it would be unfair if you didn’t, because Fleur and Krum know for certain.”

“How do you know?” Cedric asked, obviously taken aback.

“Doesn’t matter; the important part is that we have to steal a golden egg from a nesting mother dragon. Brilliant, I know.”

Cedric looked at him, baffled. “What?”

Harry rolled his eyes; was he not paying attention? “Dragons. Steal the golden egg. Got it?”

“But… how could they? I mean, dragons? Are they _mad_?”

“I stopped wondering that about wizards a very long time ago,” Harry said, shrugging. “The answer is yes, obviously. See you, then.”

Without waiting for an answer, he rushed off, leaving Cedric where he stood, looking after him dumbfounded.

 

xXx

 

Harry had not slept well this night and was accordingly grumpy the next morning, answering Ron and Hermione’s questions with grunts and frowns.

“I think you did quite well with _Accio_ yesterday,” Hermione said, “it didn’t work, _per se_ , but you just have to concentrate a bit more – it was quite good, don’t you think, Ron?”

“Absolutely,” Ron agreed who had mastered the _Accio_ weeks ago – much to Harry’s dismay. He didn’t want to be petty, but normally, he got spells faster than Ron – and it was particularly annoying that his life should be pending on this stupid spell, which was apparently super easy – hell, even Neville had gotten it. Alright, that had been mean, Harry chastised himself and gave Neville an apologizing glance – Neville, however, seemed unperturbed by Harry’s inner turmoil and just smiled at him. “Just concentrate on what you want, mate! It’s not _that_ hard.”

Harry just grunted, shoving the food around on his plate with his fork – he didn’t feel like eating, not before he had mastered that stupid spell.

He didn’t pay much attention to classes that day, feeling overwhelmed with his friends and some of the teachers fretting about him – Flitwick and McGonagall – and others hating him even more – Snape, of course. After leaving the potions classroom, he had a pounding headache – probably from all the death glares Snape had given him. At least Malfoy had left him alone – for a moment Harry wondered whether Flint might have something to do with it, but that was _absurd_.

Potions was their last class of the day and Harry lingered behind his classmates on their way back to the Great Hall; at least Hermione seemed to understand that he wanted to be left alone for a few minutes and she ushered the others along.

Harry meandered through the corridors alone, slowly drifting into unknown territory – hoping he would find his way back, but he had the map, after all – shivering slightly as it was really cold in the dungeons.

“You shouldn’t be wandering these halls alone,” a dark voice said behind him. Harry was almost not surprised.

“You,” he said, turning around and frowning at Flint, who was leaning against a wall, arms crossed. “Are you stalking me or something?”

Flint shrugged. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“That was not an answer to my question,” Harry remarked.

“I would not lower myself so far as to go anywhere near Gryffindor Tower,” Flint drawled, “if that is what you mean. But I happen to know you had Potions last today.”

“So, here I am,” Harry said after they had stared at each other in silence for some moments. “What did you want to talk about?”

“Your incompetence with _Accio_ ,” Flint said, sounding annoyed. “The talk ‘bout you being too stupid has been all over the dungeons. Pull yourself together, Potter. Even Crabbe managed to do it last week and he is a lot dumber than you.”

Apparently, Flint had a thing for back-handed compliments, Harry thought. “It’s not that easy,” he complained, knowing he sounded whiny and hating himself for it.

“C’mon,” was all Flint said, pulling him into a room that might have been used for storage some centuries ago. Without warning, he ripped Harry’s bag from his shoulder and rummaged through it.

“Hey!” Harry yelled and tried to get it back, but Flint held him back with his left and emptied the contents of Harry’s bag onto the floor. He picked up a photo of Harry and his parents that he had taken to carrying around with him; his father hugging his mother and his mother weighing baby Harry in her arms, smiling down at him. “Give it back to me! This is… _private_!”

“Try,” Flint said, grinning, Harry’s collar securely in his left, holding up the photo with his right, far out of Harry’s reach. Harry struggled even more, almost choking himself in the process. “Your wand, Potter,” Flint said, eye rolling. “Is that _you_ in the photo?”

Harry was so furious he almost couldn’t think anymore, scrambling for his wand and yelling the first spell that came to his mind: “ _Accio!_ ” And surprisingly, the photo slipped from Flint’s fingers and Harry grabbed it greedily, and after making sure it had not been damaged, he stowed it in his pocket carefully.

Flint had let go of his collar and had his arms crossed again, grinning at him triumphantly. “I knew it would work.”

“Arsehole!” Harry yelled at him and hit his upper arm – which felt like steel and probably hurt a lot less than Harry’s hand did after the impact.

“Am I?” Flint shrugged. “Try again, Potter.”

But Harry didn’t feel like bruising his knuckles again, so he settled for scowling at Flint. “That is private,” he hissed at him.

“What do you want, Potter? You managed _Accio_ , thanks to my help, and you care about a bloody photo?”

A photo of his parents meant a lot more to Harry than Flint could ever know, but he had been right about one thing: He had actually managed the spell. “Huh,” he said, inspecting his wand, which looked just like before, of course. “ _Accio_ feather!”

His feather rose from the floor, but sailed back down again at half the distance from Harry – but it was a lot more than what he had managed than before.

“Concentration, Potter!” Flint snarled.

“How am I supposed to concentrate with a dragon breathing down my neck?” Harry hissed at him – Friday was coming closer and closer and he was beginning to freak out. Who had ever thought threatening teenagers with dragons might be a good idea? And why on earth had the other Champions _volunteered_ to do this?

“Do you want me to help you relaxing?” Flint asked, a not-so-subtle hint in his voice. All of a sudden, his hands were on Harry’s hips and he pulled him close, placing his left in the small of Harry’s back and cupping his face with his right. “You look like you might need it.”

Harry sighed and closed his eyes. He knew he shouldn’t – every time he was with Flint, his rational mind screamed at him that he shouldn’t, couldn’t trust him, that Flint was probably just following some unknown agenda with Harry’s downfall as a goal. Nothing about the Slytherin was trustworthy, neither his threatening exterior nor his dark, cold eyes which never betrayed his intent nor his deep, rough voice – but Harry couldn’t help himself but feel protected when Flint held him like this, his thumb stroking Harry’s cheek almost tenderly.

But he didn’t trust Flint, he assured himself, leaning into Flint’s caress – and it was _not_ a caress, it just happened to feel nice – he only enjoyed the physical aspects. And there were a lot of good things about Flint’s physical aspects – for one, he was a really good kisser, Harry thought, when Flint tilted Harry’s chin up a bit and leant down to kiss him, and secondly, he had very gifted hands – he seemed to know exactly where to touch Harry to make him breathe heavier, to let goose bumps run over his skin, to make him tremble with excitement.

Before Harry knew what happened, he was lying on a table, on Flint’s cloak, with Flint over him; he unbuttoned Harry’s shirt with devilish slowness, covering every bit of Harry’s flushed, sweaty skin with kisses, fluttery in the beginning, but getting heavier the farther down he got. “Oh, please,” Harry breathed and almost wanted to slap himself, but Flint chuckled darkly, his breath tickling Harry’s skin.

“Yes, Potter?” he drawled, his fingers casually stroking along the waistband of Harry’s trousers. The button of his trousers popped open and Flint unzipped them, ever so slowly. “Did you want something from me?”

“Fuck you,” Harry half-snarled, half-moaned and pulled Flint down on to him. Flint was heavy and Harry relished in the feeling of the hard, muscular body pressed into his own. Not one to delay, Harry impatiently fumbled to open Flint’s trousers – it was kind of hard to do that with only one hand, jammed between their bodies – and began moving his hips slowly against Flint’s.

There – Flint moaned and Harry grinned triumphantly for a second, it was he who was in control of the situation and he enjoyed that. “You’re so wild,” Flint breathed, his voice husky, and he brushed a strand of Harry’s hair out of his face, almost tenderly, “I like that.”

The dark want in his voice made Harry shudder with pleasure and he finally managed to sneak his hand into Flint’s boxers. He touched Flint’s cock carefully, marvelling at the hot smoothness; but then he decided that he didn’t want to be careful and so he hastily opened his own trousers – at least that was easier than doing it for someone else – and moaned when their cocks touched. Flint groaned, too, digging strong fingers into Harry’s waist, and Harry began to move, to roll his hips slowly against Flint’s, hissing at the friction between their bodies; and he took both of their cocks, rubbing; and Flint kissed him, with so much dark want it made Harry shudder; and then his eyes rolled back, his back arching, when he came; and Flint came, too, with a groan so deep it made goose-prickles run over Harry’s skin.

Hesitantly, Harry raised his hand, touching Flint’s face, fingers trailing lightly over his cheek with a bit of rough stubble, and his forehead, slick with sweat. Flint had slumped over him, still breathing heavily, which made Harry fear he might be squeezed to death, but soon enough Flint pushed himself up and stood over him, pushing him back down when Harry tried to sit up.

Flint loomed over him, staring down at him, his shirt half un-buttoned and his trousers still unzipped, holding Harry down with one of his large hands; then he leant over him and kissed him again, a kiss so deep and slow Harry forgot everything else.

Suddenly, Flint interrupted the kiss and stood up again, buttoning up his shirt hastily and zipping up his pants. “Stop doing this,” he snarled at Harry.

Harry blinked, confused. “Stop doing what?”

Flint didn’t answer, just whirled around and left the room – almost as though he had to flee – without looking back even once.

“Flint!” Harry yelled; but he didn’t come back and Harry half-lay, half-sat on the table, staring at the door Flint had left open. “Huh,” he said, getting up slowly. His encounters with Flint got weirder every time – why had he left so suddenly? He shrugged, shook his head and used _Scourgify_ at himself in order to look presentable for his return to Gryffindor Tower.

It had taken him a while to find his way back, but with help of the map he had managed to find the exit to the dungeons and the way back to his Common Room – luckily without meeting anyone, as it was past curfew, once again.

“What did you do this time?” Hermione asked, sighing, when Harry sat with her and his classmates.

“You look a bit… ruffled,” Dean said with a frown and Seamus snickered, mumbling something under his breath.

Harry pretended not to hear him and announced: “I had kind of an epiphany and I’m finally able to do _Accio. Accio_ Hermione’s feather!”

Hermione yelped when her feather slipped from her hand and Harry caught it with sure fingers, but then she smiled happily. “I knew you’d be able to do it.”

“Brilliant, mate,” Ron said, patting his back. “Took you only four weeks!” Harry tried to shove him, but Ron hastily evaded him, grinning.

“So, how did you do it?” Hermione asked curiously.

“I… uhm, just tried really hard,” Harry said and cursing himself for the lamest excuse ever. “I just kind of… got it, you know?”

“Ah, I just remembered I brought you something from dinner,” Ron said, pulling a few slices of toast, wrapped in a napkin, from his pocket.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to eat anything,” Harry said darkly – after all, it was Wednesday night and the dragon was waiting for him. He knew, if he tried to anything now he wouldn’t be able to keep it down anyway.

“But you have to eat something,” Hermione objected. “Otherwise you’ll just faint from weakness during the First Task! It’s only on Friday, two more days!”

“I’m not hungry,” Harry said, shrugging, “but thanks, mate.”

“Nevertheless, you have to eat,” Hermione said, frowning.

“Don’t worry, I can go for a few days without eating,” he said dismissively. “I’m going to bed. G’night, everyone.”

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kudos and comments, I hope you will enjoy this chapter!

During Potions, one day before the First Task, Harry’s thoughts were drifting while he diced frog tongues for his Confusion Draught; there had been four dragons in the Forbidden Forest, surely that meant that there would be one dragon for each Champion. Considering his luck, he would probably get the vicious one with thorns on her tail – he still shuddered when he thought of the dragon’s furious screeching – and then the inevitable happened, he cut his left palm deeply. Cursing under his breath, he dropped his knife and pulled his wand to stop the blood flowing. It didn’t hurt particularly, but he didn’t want to make a mess on his desk. “ _Deficio! Scourgify!_ ” he whispered and the blood flow immediately ebbed.

Luckily, Snape was currently bent over Parvati’s cauldron and berating her for “general incompetence”, so he hadn’t seen. As though nothing had happened, Harry continued dicing, concentrating on his work this time, added the frog tongues and checked his book for the next step.

He hadn’t been prepared for his cauldron to send a steaming fountain up to the ceiling, leaving a deeply black mark in the diameter of his cauldron and falling back into his cauldron without the tiniest drop splashing – still, students were screaming and backing up.

“Potter!” Snape yelled, rushing up to him, his cloak billowing behind him. “What have you done now, you imbecile?”

“I don’t know, sir,” Harry said, feeling queasy – that was not good.

Snape scowled at him and bowed over his cauldron, sniffing slightly at the mixture that had turned the colour of ash. “Blood!” Snape hissed. “Did you add your blood to the potion?”

“No!” Harry said immediately, but then he blushed and turned his hands. The gash on his palm had lengthened and started bleeding again so his palm was moist with blood up to his wrist; Harry heard Parvati and Lavender shrieking. _Honestly, one could think they had never seen blood before_ , Harry thought, slightly irritated.

“Do you know what human blood does to potions with dragon claws, Potter?” Snape asked, his voice dangerously low.

“It ruins them?” Harry offered – that much was obvious at least.

“It turns them poisonous _and_ highly explosive, which you would know if you ever bothered to open a book on potions,” Snape hissed. “Ten points from Gryffindor for your deficits in basic potion knowledge.”

“But –” Harry protested, immediately interrupting himself; that had been _stupid_.

Snape smiled. “Contradicting a teacher? That will be ten more points from Gryffindor.” An angry murmur rose, but no one dared to object in fear of losing Gryffindor even more points. “Report to my office at eight o’clock sharp for detention for creating a new level of hazard in my class, Potter,” Snape snarled and whirled around.

Harry wanted to open his mouth to protest, but he knew it was futile anyway and he probably would only get even more detention. At least, his teachers had been fair enough so far not to give him detention on the last evening before the First Task.

 

xXx

 

“That was totally unfair!” Ron hissed when they sat at dinner, giving Snape at the Head Table an angry glare.

“It’s not like Snape’s ever been fair to me,” Harry replied, shrugging.

“That was really unasked for,” Hermione agreed, however, and glanced at him worriedly. “Do you think you can manage, Harry?”

“Yeah,” Harry said quietly. “I mean, I’d not be doing anything useful tonight anyway – I’m way too nervous. This way, I’ll at least have something to do.”

“Don’t you want to eat something?” Hermione asked, frowning and looking at Harry’s empty plate. “You must be starving by now.”

Harry shook his head – actually he thought the food smelled nauseating and he had only accompanied Ron and Hermione to dinner because he didn’t want to spend his last evening before the First Task alone in Gryffindor Tower – it was bad enough he had to spend part of his evening in Snape’s classroom.

Hermione seemed about to say something, but Ron shook his head into her direction and she scoffed, but didn’t say anything.

“Well, I’d better be going,” Harry said, glancing at his watch, “otherwise I’ll probably be in for another detention for _unpunctuality_.” He imitated Snape’s drawl with his last word and Ron snickered.

“I hope he won’t be too mean,” he said, patting Harry’s shoulder.

“Keep your head up,” Hermione added with a smile. “Hopefully he won’t keep you too long.”

Snape was not even there when Harry entered the classroom, but Harry found a scroll with Snape’s neat handwriting that most students dreaded seeing in their Potions essays: _Potter, I have better things to do than attending your detention. Dice these flobberworms and fill them into the jars I prepared for you. Scrub the cauldrons stacked on the right side of the classroom and clean all desks from any remaining ingredients. No magic. Professor S. Snape_

 _Charming as ever_ , Harry thought and rolled up his sleeves with a sigh. He picked up the huge knife lying next to the flobberworms and began his work, chopping the flobberworms into neat dices. They were slimy and squishy and frankly disgusting, but Harry tried not to pay attention to them, but only to his work. He actually didn’t mind preparing potion ingredients (except for their general nastiness), it was almost like preparing food and Harry was actually good at cooking; he had years and years of experience in chopping all kinds of comestibles into neat dices because God forbid the Dursleys ever ate food that was not chopped properly.

At least the flobberworms drove the dragons from his mind and Harry didn’t pay attention to his surroundings, so he jumped and almost dropped the knife when someone touched his shoulder casually. He whirled around, knife raised, only to discover Flint looking at him oddly.

“Oh, it’s you,” Harry sighed, his pulse still running high. “What are _you_ doing here?”

“Snape told me to make sure you would finish your detention properly and not use magic; and he also said he didn’t want to bother with you,” Flint replied with a grin. “I’m a prefect, just so you know.”

“Yeah, I keep forgetting,” Harry murmured, wondering who in their right mind would choose Flint to be prefect – oh right, Snape. Shaking his head, he turned back to his flobberworms and continued deftly cutting the remaining three worms into dices.

“Are you a chef?” Flint asked, a hint of surprise in his voice. He seemed to have forgotten about his flight after their last encounter, and Harry thought it best not to raise the subject.

“Kind of,” Harry replied and filled all the flobberworm dices into the indicated jars.

“You are disturbingly good with a knife.”

“I told you to be careful with me,” Harry replied, flashing him a grin.

Flint raised his eyebrows. “Whatever, Potter. Are you done?”

“’Course not,” Harry said, pointing to the dirty cauldrons and the messy desks. “Snape doesn’t do things by halves.”

“ _Scourgify!_ ” Flint said, pointing at the cauldrons, and repeated the spell for the desks and Harry’s forearms which were drowned in Flobberworm slime.

“I wasn’t supposed to use magic, remember?”

“Snape never told _me_ not to use magic,” Flint replied, grinning. “You might want to be a bit more grateful, Potter, I just saved you roughly three hours of scrubbing.”

“Well, thank you,” Harry said pointedly.

“That is everything I get from you?”

“Oh, I know what you want,” Harry said, grinning, “but I’m not that easy, y’know.”

“Really? I never realized during our last encounters,” Flint breathed and suddenly they stood only inches apart, “wouldn’t it be most suspicious if you had finished your detention with Snape so early and you returned to your Common Room now?”

“Maybe,” Harry allowed, then he smiled and gave up any kind of pretence; he pulled Flint down to his height and this time it was him who initiated their kiss. As it had been every time they had kissed, it was almost intoxicating and Harry moaned into Flint’s hot, hungry mouth, forgetting everything around him, until Flint had pushed him down onto a hard surface.

Harry blinked, interrupting the kiss, and realized that he was lying on Snape’s desk, pinned down by Flint’s large hands. “Snape won’t like that,” he said slowly though it was definitely a _very_ nice experience, lying under Flint like that – probably the best he had had so far in Snape’s classroom.

“I couldn’t care less what Snape likes,” Flint growled and Harry had to supress a shudder at the roughness of his voice; and then Flint continued his kisses along Harry’s throat, slowly unbuttoning Harry’s shirt, and drew a pattern of fiery hot kisses on his flushed skin. Harry gasped; it felt _amazing_ , Flint really _knew_ what he was doing, he thought, arching his back and digging his fingers in Flint’s hair to push him further down.

Flint laughed quietly against Harry’s stomach, hot breath brushing his skin, and his thumbs stroked along Harry’s hipbones which had been covered by his shirt just a few seconds ago, Harry remembered drowsily. “Impatient?” he teased and his fingers disappeared beneath Harry’s waistband.

“You’re too fucking good at this,” Harry hissed and immediately wanted to bite his tongue; what had possessed him to utter _that_? But it was true, there was no denying.

“That’s nice to hear,” Flint drawled, grinning, and unbuttoned Harry’s trousers with maddening slowness.

Harry hissed again, his voice slipping almost into Parsel, and Flint perked up. “I forgot you speak Parsel, Potter,” he said, his voice unexpectedly hoarse. “That’s kind of hot. Say something.”

Harry closed his eyes, trying to pull up the image of a snake in his mind, and hissed: “ _You’d better hurry up, Flint!_ ”

“Was that my name?” Flint asked, suddenly sounding more interested in Harry speaking Parsel than in sucking Harry’s cock.

“ _Yes_ ,” Harry hissed, “ _and now stop talking!_ ”

“I have no idea what you’re telling me,” Flint said, sounding intrigued, “but it’s fucking hot.” And finally, finally he unzipped Harry’s trousers, shoving them down and his boxers, too, and he took Harry’s cock into his mouth; and Harry groaned deeply, letting his head fall back. When Flint began to suck, slowly, his mind was nothing but a colourful kaleidoscope of whirling thoughts and memories and suddenly he remembered a fleeting thought that had come to the surface of his mind over and over again during the last days; he had wondered what it might be like, having sex with a man; and he knew Flint wanted him – though he hadn’t said anything during their last encounters after the alcove-incident, but Harry could see it in his eyes, the way he looked up and down Harry’s body with unspoken desire – and he was curious; he wanted to know what it would be like. He had told Flint he didn’t want to; but that was not true, not anymore; his curiosity had sparked and he had realized that their… non-relationship might be more than just a game between two enemies, but he hadn’t wanted to admit it to himself so far – but somehow he wanted it to be more; and he _wanted_ Flint, there was a desire burning in him he had never known before; it was not love, surely, but he wanted him, wanted, wanted.

“Flint,” he gasped, “stop.”

To his credit, Flint immediately stopped and raised his head. “What?” he asked – was there the slightest look of concern on his face?

“I,” Harry said, and stopped, and suddenly he didn’t know what to say. His determination – well, it had never been determination, had it? – was crumbling away and he felt at a loss for words. “I… I want…”

“Are you alright?” Flint asked, brushing a loose strand of hair from Harry’s face, a gesture of unexpected tenderness.

“No,” Harry croaked, shaking his head.

“Do you want me to stop?” Flint was now caressing his face and Harry almost wanted to laugh – who would ever have thought Flint might caress someone?

“No,” Harry said, “I want… I want you to…,” he swallowed, his throat as dry as paper, “I want to… I want to sleep with you,” he managed to croak.

“Are you _sure_?” Flint asked after a few seconds of disbelief.

“Don’t you want to?” Harry asked, suddenly feeling small and afraid.

“I do,” Flint said; and Harry had never seen him look so serious, “but do you really want to? I don’t want you to feel forced.”

“Remember what you said, in the alcove?”

“That was stupid of me, never should have said that… I kind of got carried away,” Flint admitted, “you are too hot for your own good, Potter.”

Harry actually managed a hoarse laugh at that. “You’re the first to tell me that.”

“I know,” Flint said, his expression still so very serious, “but are you really sure, Potter? This is neither the perfect time nor the perfect place.”

And suddenly Harry was caught in a rush of mad Gryffindor courage, and he whispered: “Yes, yes, I want to. _Now_.”

“It will hurt, though,” Flint warned him, Harry just shrugged. “Tell me to stop whenever you change your mind,” he instructed him and raised his wand.

“Stop,” Harry said before Flint had even opened his mouth to say a spell. “I want you to undress first.”

“Gryffindor thoroughness, eh?” Flint asked, grinning, but his voice was trembling just the slightest bit. Nevertheless, he obeyed Harry’s command and hastily undressed himself, dropping his clothes onto the floor heedlessly, while Harry shimmied out of his trousers and boxers and shirt. So Harry saw Flint fully naked for the first time; all well-defined muscles and smooth skin slightly darker than Harry’s, glistening with sweat, and his cock in a nest of dark curls, erect and huge and red and pulsing; and Harry swallowed, Flint was _hot_.

“Like what you see?” Flint asked, and Harry nodded. “So do I,” Flint said, his voice husky, and then his hands were on Harry’s hips, “turn around then, Potter.” He lifted Harry’s hips slightly as if to flip him over, but Harry shook his head.

“I want to look into your eyes,” he breathed, not caring if he sounded cheesy.

“Whatever you want, Potter,” Flint replied, “it will be less comfortable for you, though.” Harry shrugged; he had never cared for comfort all his life. “Very well then.” Suddenly, Flint sounded nervous when he picked up his wand again and murmured a lube spell and a protection spell on himself and Harry – Harry recognized those; he had found them in a book Hermione had “accidentally” shoved among his books after one of their study sessions in the Library – probably it was her way of her saying “I know what you are doing, Harry”, and Harry was pretty sure Hermione _knew_ – well, of course not with whom, but she _knew_. And thorough as she was, she probably wanted him to be prepared for anything.

“Ready?” Flint whispered, his voice hoarse, and Harry nodded, feeling afraid and curious at the same time, and without saying a word, Flint began rubbing his cock with his left, with fingers sure and skilful, while his right stroked the inside of Harry’s slightly trembling thighs, and then slipped deeper and… Harry inhaled sharply, his hands curling into fists; it was _eerie_ , but there was a thrill of something he had never experienced before. “Alright there?” Flint asked.

“Just keep going,” Harry gasped, and Flint did; and it hurt, but not overly so, and soon enough Harry enjoyed what Flint was doing, his back arching and his hips bucking; and then Flint added a second digit and a third, and his fingers brushed something inside Harry no one had ever touched before, and Harry screamed hoarsely, his toes curling with pleasure. “Don’t stop,” he moaned when Flint stopped moving his fingers and looked at him, his face flushed and glittering with sweat, but concern in his eyes. “It feels amazing,” Harry added; and moaned again, when Flint brushed that particular spot again.

After what seemed like moments stretched to eons, Flint removed his fingers and Harry sighed in disappointment. “Ready?” Flint asked, his voice nothing but a hoarse whisper, filled with so much want it made goose-bumps run over Harry’s skin.

“Yes,” he answered, his voice on the verge of breaking, “yes, yes, please.” He had never wanted something that much, had never known he might want something that much. Without saying a word, Flint placed Harry’s legs on his shoulders and leant forward – it was indeed uncomfortable, Harry thought, but he couldn’t care less; and then he felt Flint’s cock on his entrance, and Flint took his hand, intertwining their fingers; he was trembling, too; and then he pushed into Harry with such agonizing slowness Harry arched his back, moaning.

It _hurt_ , it hurt a lot, but it was bearable; and then Flint began moving, slowly at first, his fist rubbing Harry’s cock in sync with his movements, and then Flint’s cock brushed that particular spot inside him again and Harry moaned, his hips moving against Flint’s. There was a thrill of pleasure, a pleasure of feeling _whole_ as he had never felt before running through his body, and he begged Flint, “faster, please, harder, oh _God_ ,” and Flint obeyed, thrusting faster into him, groaning, his left almost crushing Harry’s hand, and he bent down further, catching him in a kiss so passionate Harry forgot about his pain, caught up in a wave of ecstasy and lust, and his eyes locked with Flint’s, dark with want. Flint sped up his rhythm again, thrusting harder into him, and Harry’s head lolled back, his eyes rolling back and he screamed, wordlessly, and then he came, all of his muscles tensing, and then he could feel Flint coming inside him, his cock pulsing; and Harry shuddered violently, hissing Flint’s name, his voice slipping into Parsel again.

Flint shuddered, too, his breath ragged, and his thumb stroked Harry’s cheek. “Are you alright?” he whispered.

Harry didn’t know if he was, he felt incredibly worn-out suddenly, but he nodded and even managed a weak smile. He had never been that intimate with anyone before, Harry thought with a shudder, never had anyone been so close, so close, their limbs tangled, skin touching skin, Flint cupping his cheeks and catching him in an intoxicating kiss again, slow and lazy, but full of lingering passion.

Carefully, Flint pulled out of him, which felt just as strange as him pushing into Harry for the first time, and covered his face and throat with light kisses. Harry closed his eyes; he was tired, so very tired, he felt dizzy – from lack of sleep and food, probably, and from strenuous physical exertion. His mind was drifting… “’M so tired,” he mumbled, and then he knew no more.

 

xXx

 

When Harry awoke, blinking into blurry darkness, he was enveloped in warmth; a huge, warm body was pressed against his back and a soft bedcover pulled up to his chin; an arm was wrapped around his middle and a heavy leg dragged over his own. He didn’t know where he was; and he hurt, but he couldn’t remember why; he still felt incredibly dizzy, but on the other hand he had never felt that comfortable and safe before. When he shifted a bit, the arm wrapped around him pulled him even closer to that warm body, and with a faint smile, Harry closed his eyes again, slipping back into sleep.

_He is annoyed – not furious, Wormtail has never seen him truly furious, and still he is lying on the floor, trembling and sobbing. He is not annoyed because he had to kill two muggles as they had seen Wormtail leaving their house when they returned home; he is annoyed because of Wormtail’s incompetence and the fact that he depends on him._

_He needs Wormtail, needs him to feed him, to protect him while he is so pathetically weak; and it is humiliating to be so weak, to depend on someone like Wormtail who is so unworthy of him. At least Wormtail is afraid of him, but that does not make him any less of a fool._

_“Did you at least manage to steal the food?” he asks and Wormtail nods, still sobbing, and he is irritated at the inconvenience; he can live from Nagini’s milk, but Wormtail of course cannot – even if he could, he would never cede her milk to him, no one but him would ever be worthy of that._

_But today, today might look better, today it would show whether the boy has succeeded in his task. And he, he waits and smiles a smile that sends Wormtail into another round of sobs._

“Potter! Potter, for Merlin’s sake, wake up!” Someone shook him violently and Harry groaned, he was still annoyed at the inconvenience of his follower’s incompetence; but he opened his eyes slowly and suddenly he couldn’t remember what he had just been annoyed about. _Weird_ , he thought, blinking and seeing nothing but blurred shapes.

A dark figure loomed over him, large hands still on his shoulders, and Harry lay in a bed he did not know. “Glasses,” he managed to croak.

“Oh right, you’re blind as a bat,” the looming figure said and his glasses were shoved onto his face. Harry blinked again, recognizing Flint, and then memories from last night flooded his mind. He remembered lying on a desk – _Snape’s_ desk, of all things – thighs spread and Flint thrusting into him and Harry begging him for more – what had he been _thinking_?

He groaned and buried his face in his hands, how could he? Everything hurt, particularly down there, and when he sat up slowly, it hurt even more. On top of the fact that he had just given his virginity to fucking _Marcus Flint_ , he suddenly remembered that today was the day of the First Task and he was supposed to fly on a fucking broom. How had he not remembered that last night? Oh right, he had asked Flint to distract him from that. Well, _fuck_.

“You’re really hard to wake up, d’you know that?” Flint said, sounding irritated. “I have tried to wake you up, over and over again, and waking you now took me twenty minutes. You sleep like you’re dead.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Harry mumbled into his hands, “but Ron mentioned something like that, yeah.”

“That means you have forty-five minutes until the First Task starts,” Flint informed him and Harry immediately jumped up, but he instantly regretted that. _Ouch_ , he thought, wincing and then taking in his surroundings.

He was in Flint’s dorm, obviously; the other four-poster beds were deserted, however, and Flint stood before him, arms crossed and frowning down at him. Harry wondered how he had gotten here, he only remembered dozing off for what seemed like a few seconds on Snape’s desk – he cringed inwardly – naked, on top of that, so how had he gotten into Flint’s bed, still completely starkers? “How’d I get here?” he mumbled, checking the floor for his clothing and finding his trousers.

“Why, I wrapped you into that nifty cloak of yours and carried you here,” Flint replied with a grin.

Harry froze mid-movement and stared at him incredulously. “You did what?”

Flint scowled. “As I said, I carried you. I might’ve levitated you, but I’m not that good at levitating something for a longer time and I didn’t want you to crash into some wall if I wasn’t paying attention.”

Harry swallowed. That was oddly romantic in a very wrong way, and also very humiliating. A blush crept over his face and he put on his own shirt, lowering his head to button it up. The fabric was cold on his skin, which was still heated from sleep.

“What? No thank you?” Flint asked. “I could have left you in Snape’s classroom, you know.”

Harry shuddered at the thought – he probably would have been added – in neat dices – to the flobberworms if Snape had indeed found him, lying on his desk naked and deeply asleep. Still… “I don’t think last night was a good idea,” he said quietly and raised his eyes to meet Flint’s defiantly.

“You didn’t make it sound like that last night,” Flint said harshly. “If I recall correctly, you enjoyed it very much, it was _you_ who begged me to fuck you.”

Harry blushed even further. Yes, he had enjoyed it very much indeed, but it had not been a good idea at all. First of all, because he hurt all over and he certainly wasn’t in any condition to out-fly a dragon; and secondly because, frankly, he still didn’t trust Flint; and thirdly, because he should have waited until he had found someone he was actually in love with – yes, sure, there was a lot of sexual tension between him and Flint, but neither was Harry in love with Flint, nor Flint with him.

He was at a loss for words, so he just said: “You still shouldn’t have done it. I… it shouldn’t have happened.”

“I asked you several times,” Flint said, “and you told me to go on. How was I supposed to know?”

“I… I didn’t want it to be like that,” Harry admitted and absurdly, he felt like crying, but he wouldn’t cry, not before Flint. “And it _hurts_.”

“What did you expect?” Flint asked, scowling. “I warned you. Of course it does when you do it for the first time.”

“I expected you to be a bit more understanding – well, no, actually I didn’t,” Harry said and suddenly he wanted to hurt Flint, somehow, “considering who you are.”

“You knew who I was,” Flint growled. “One thing I said in the alcove was true; I wouldn’t change myself just to fuck you. If you expected me to be a knight in shining armour, well, then you are delusional.”

“I don’t want a knight in shining armour,” Harry said though he didn’t know whom he truly wanted; he just wanted to undo what had happened. Last night he hadn’t really thought about what was happening, he had been, well, horny; certainly it had been enjoyable if painful, but it was something very different from casual snogging and blow-jobs. It was way more intimate and personal, but now it was too late.

And he didn’t want Flint to be right; yes, Harry had asked _him_ , not the other way around, but… but somehow it shouldn’t have happened.

“Well, I’d better get going,” he said hoarsely, and with his face still burning, he hastily collected his socks and shoes and stuffed them into his bag as there was no time to put them on, then he pulled his invisibility cloak over his head.

Flint didn’t say a word, he just watched him with dark, piercing eyes; and Harry didn’t know what to say either, so he bolted without a word.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Here we go again! Thanks for the comments and kudos!

Neville was alone in their dorm, rummaging through his trunk because he wanted to put on gloves and an extra-scarf; it was freezing outside and he had no idea how long the Task might last.

He gave an undignified yelp when the door slammed open and Harry rushed inside; his hair even more dishevelled than usual, his shirt buttoned up the wrong way and his bare feet pounding on the floor. “What on earth –,” Neville began, but Harry immediately ripped off his clothing and ran into the bathroom. “The Task starts in twenty minutes, you know that?” Neville yelled over the sound of a shower running.

“I know!” Harry yelled back and after what seemed like two seconds, he came back, drying his hair with a towel and cursing under his breath. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, what have I been thinking?”

“Uhm, are you alright?” Neville asked carefully. He and Harry were not exactly close friends – well, Neville liked Harry and they got along well, but he wasn’t even sure whether Harry would even call him a friend. He didn’t exactly pay a lot of attention to Neville, though he was always friendly to him and often helped him writing his DADA homework, but there was no way he was as close to him as he was to Ron and Hermione. Neville sometimes wished he and Harry could be friends like Ron and Harry were, but he knew that wish was futile – after all, why would Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived who had fought You-Know-Who several times, star of the Gryffindor Quidditch team and much sought-after bachelor, by girls as well as boys, ever want to be friends with shy and clumsy Neville Longbottom who spent most of his time gardening and doing homework?

Still, he felt obliged to ask Harry.

“Huh?” Harry said, looking at him with huge green eyes, and stopped dressing himself for a moment. “Yeah, I am. Well… no, I’m not. Oh damnit!” he cursed when he had somehow managed to mess up the knot in his tie.

“Would you like to… uhm, talk about it?” Neville asked, blushing though he knew Harry probably wouldn’t share his problems with him.

“No,” Harry said shortly, “I can’t… oh fuck, I think I made a really huge mistake… like, the worst mistake of my life.” He bowed down to pick up his shoes and hissed with something that sounded like pain, Neville assumed.

“Oh,” Neville said and he could only imagine what Harry’s mistakes might look like compared to his own – probably they were a lot grander and more significant. “Um, can I help you?”

Harry laughed, but it was a bitter sound. “No,” he said, picking up his bag, “no, you can’t, it’s too late for that. Don’t tell anyone I said that, though. Do I look okay?” His hair was tousled, his shirt wrinkled and he looked tired and unhappy and he bent down to grab his bag, hissing again.

“You always look okay. Uh… are you hurt?” Neville asked.

Harry whirled around, wincing, but his eyes were dark. “No!” he barked. “Stop asking stupid questions, Neville! Where are Ron and Mione?”

Neville flinched, hurt by Harry’s sudden anger – he didn’t even know why Harry was irritated. “They thought you had gotten up before them and that you are already preparing yourself for the Task. They went to look for you and wish you good luck. But… you didn’t sleep here, did you?”

“Don’t ask, Neville, just don’t,” Harry said sharply. “Tell Ron and Mione I appreciate it, but don’t say anything else, okay? I gotta go.”

He picked up his broom, opened the window and took off without looking back. “Good luck, Harry!” Neville yelled after him, but Harry didn’t react so Neville didn’t know whether he had heard him or not.

With a look at his watch, he decided he’d better hurry, too, and ran down towards the stadium, stumbling down a set of stairs shortly before the Great Hall, only to realize that he had forgotten his gloves and his extra-scarf. _Just my luck_ , he thought miserably.

 

xXx

 

From high above Harry could see the stadium, already filled to the brim with spectators, but a few were still hurrying towards the stadium, yelping when he shot above their heads, right into the huge white tent that was reserved for the Champions. As soon as he was inside, he jumped from his broom, suppressing a moan of pain and cursing himself again. _Stupid, stupid, stupid_ , he berated himself. Among all the bad ideas he had ever had, this one surely took the cake.

“Sorry for being late,” he panted and only now he realized that he was actually the last to enter the tent; everyone had frozen mid-movement to stare at him.

“Mr. Potter!” McGonagall screeched and Harry flinched. “Must you always –” She took a deep breath, obviously to calm herself. “Well, it seems we are complete finally,” she said sharply.

“Yes,” Bagman cleared his throat, “come here, m’boy, come here. As I was just saying, the task is to get the golden egg. Each of you may pull a… ah, an _obstacle_ from this bag, because they are different for each of you.” He shook the bag in his hand, but neither of the Champions paid any attention to him. Harry was busy straightening his shirt and tucking it in properly, while the other Champions stared at him, Fleur clearly disapproving of his dissembled state. “Ladies first!”

Harry was not the least bit surprised when he pulled the Hungarian Horntail from the bag – that was just his bad luck, he supposed. “Good luck then!” Bagman boomed and together with the judges and McGonagall, he left the tent.

“Are you alright?” Cedric asked softly as soon as they had left.

“Yes, I am,” Harry said, annoyed – why did everyone have to ask him that? Besides it wasn’t like he would tell perfect prefect _Cedric_.

“You are a deezgrace,” Fleur announced, looking down her nose at Harry.

Harry just shrugged; he couldn’t care less what Fleur thought of him. She snorted and raised her chin even higher, pointedly not even looking at him.

Cedric looked like he was about to say something else when Bagman called his name from the stadium. With a slightly green tinge, he got up and stumbled towards the exit. “Good luck,” Harry said, and Cedric turned around, flashing him a nervous smile, before he disappeared.

Harry spent the next minutes, which seemed like hours, with his face buried in his hands, only mumbling “good luck” when Fleur and Krum were called, but neither of them reacted to him and Harry didn’t care. His mind was buzzing, but he was unable to form a coherent thought; images of the huge dragon, and of himself, being roasted by to the dragon, and memories of last night whirled through his head. _Classy, Harry_ , he thought, _really classy, losing your fucking virginity to fucking Marcus Flint on Snape’s fucking desk_. He hadn’t planned for it to happen that way – well, he hadn’t planned how to lose his virginity _at all_ , but if he had, surely this wouldn’t have been his method of choice. If he hadn’t been about to face a dragon in a few minutes, his life couldn’t have become any worse, he was sure.

And then, his name was called. He felt dizzy and his knees were trembling when he made his way to the stadium. The spectators were hooting and howling and screaming, some of it sounded encouraging, some did not.

And there was the dragon, huge and black and menacing and crouched over a nest on one side of the stadium.

Harry swallowed.

“Here comes our boy hero, the Boy-Who-Lived himself!” Bagman boomed and Harry wished he would shut up.

As soon as he had entered the stadium, the dragon noticed him, whirling around and snarling menacingly into his direction. Harry inhaled deeply, pulled his wand and called: “ _Accio_ Firebolt!” He desperately wished it would work, it must work, it _must_ ; and after what seemed like ages, his Firebolt zoomed into his direction and smacked into his palm. Harry grabbed it with trembling hands and mounted his broom, willing himself not to wince at the pain.

He shot up vertically, flying a huge circle above the stadium at first to get an overview; it reminded him of a desert, with a few rocks scattered here and there, and the dragon, of course. Bagman shouted something, but Harry did not listen to him.

Breathing deeply once more, he raced towards the dragon, glimpsing the golden egg which lay half buried among the other eggs, and evaded the flame shooting from the dragon’s snout just-so. The dragon screeched, so loud Harry’s ears were ringing, obviously annoyed that she hadn’t managed to barbecue him, and tried to snap him when he began to fly in circles around her head.

The crowd hooted, but it sounded like from very far away. He didn’t know how many times he avoided the flames and the dragon’s snapping teeth by hairsbreadth; and her eyes followed him all the time. She screeched again and Harry began to drift to the left slightly, he wanted to lure her away from her nest, but unfortunately she didn’t move, she only stretched her long neck and flapped her wings which made his broom tumble in mid-air.

So he moved away even further from her, buzzing around her head, but always just out of reach of her flames until she gave another screech of fury and finally her body rose into the air. Had she seemed ungraceful and heavy while on the ground, so was she of deadly grace and beauty in the air, and of incredible speed. The crowd gave a unified howl when her tail slashed along his back, one of the thorns ripping his cloak almost into half.

He continued luring her farther away from the nest, almost as far as her chain allowed, heat soring on his skin and a few blisters blooming on his hands, but he was not really burned, not yet. He took a steep dive, her head following him instantly, but then, just a foot from the ground, he abruptly turned his broom back up again and her head almost crashed into a rock on the ground and for a moment, she seemed confused and dizzy.

Harry used that moment to do something monumentally stupid.

He jumped from his broom mid-air and landed on her neck, just behind her head. Suddenly, he felt incredibly tiny; surely her neck was twice as thick as a huge tree trunk, yet slender in comparison to her body and graceful and covered with thick scales, that were in fact not black, but a very dark green, iridescent with the light and her movements.

The crowd had fallen silent and the dragon bellowed, shaking her head to get rid of him, so Harry hastily slipped down so he landed on her neck, legs dangling down on both sides (which _hurt_ ). Assuring himself with a glance that his broom was safely hovering behind him, held up by only his will, he pulled out his wand and leant forward. Her scales were unexpectedly cool, almost like metal, and very sharp, he realized when he cut himself; and her eyes were huge and golden with slit pupils.

Again, the dragon bellowed and tried to turn her head, but he sat so close to her head she could not reach him with her teeth. He raised his wand, about to perform the Conjunctivitis curse, when he hesitated. It just seemed so… _mean_ , considering that she had not chosen to take part in this Tournament either. And her golden eyes were full of fury, but they were beautiful as well and Harry saw a yearning for freedom in her eyes, which reminded him of his younger self. He did not want to hurt her, he realized, and so he ripped off his cloak, placed it over her eyes and leant to the left to knot the ends with his wand.

Unfortunately, she had chosen this very moment to spin her head to the left to reach her head with her claw, and he fell. For a moment the world seemed frozen: her mouth wide open, with huge sharp teeth and flames licking over her tongue; the crowd gazing upon him in horror, scattered faces as sharp and clear as crystals; and the ground beneath him, uncomfortably close.

Then, his hand closed around his broom handle and he pulled himself up, speeding away from her. The dragon needed about fifteen seconds to rip Harry’s cloak from her eyes with her claws and to reorientate herself, but that was enough time for him to race to her nest, pick up the golden egg and get out of her range.

He flew past the entrance of the stadium and landed softly on the floor, turning around to look back at the dragon. Though she must know he was out of her range, she shot flames into the direction he had fled and screeched again, her wings beating the air and her tail slashing. And suddenly, Harry understood Hagrid: She was incredibly dangerous, deadly even, and furious, but she was beautiful in that.

Harry smiled, and then his legs gave in under him, and he slumped to the floor, so tired and dizzy and suddenly hungry; and blinking he realized that he must have cut himself deeper on her scales than he had thought for the golden egg was dark and slick with blood. _Weird_ , he thought and then he fell into darkness.

 

xXx

 

When Harry awoke he immediately knew he was in the hospital wing – he had spent way too many nights here and that too-clean smell was unmistakeable.

“Hush, Ron, you are going to wake him,” he heard Hermione’s quiet voice somewhere to his left.

“But I want him to wake,” Ron’s voice whined, quietly though, “he needs to know what happened afterwards, don’t you think?”

“What happened afterwards?” Harry asked, without opening his eyes. Immediately he was buried in a lot of bushy hair and Hermione’s firm hug.

“Oh Harry, you’re awake!” she cried and hugged him even closer.

“Leave him alone, Mione, you’ll crush him,” Ron laughed, but he hugged Harry, too, as soon as Hermione had let go of him. “You were _brilliant_ , mate! Completely suicidal, though.”

“Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley, you were supposed to inform me the very moment he woke up!” Madam Pomfrey bustled into the room and bowed over Harry. “How are you feeling, Mr. Potter?”

“I’m fine,” Harry said, he just felt a bit faint, but as always Madam Pomfrey paid him no mind.

“You were dehydrated and had not eaten for days – I had to give you three nutritional potions – and then you came upon the brilliant idea to outfly a dragon – well, at least the dragon was not your fault, Mr. Potter – I have to wonder what this school has come to. Dragons, really! The nerve!” she exclaimed, measuring Harry’s pulse with her wand. “Well, your pulse seems to be in order. I must request of you that you stay in bed until this evening, however. And I _forbid_ you to fight a dragon for at least six weeks.”

“That should not pose a problem,” Harry said with a weak smile.

“Very well. Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley you have ten minutes and then I want to see you leaving.”

“You were bloody brilliant!” Ron yelled as soon as Madam Pomfrey had disappeared in her office. “And can you believe – you fucking won the Task!”

“Really,” Harry said weakly. “That is, um, brilliant.” He didn’t know what to think of it, though – well, first of all, he couldn’t really believe it.

“That is so typical of you, Ron,” Hermione chastised. “Don’t you think Harry should recover before you dump this piece of information on his head?”

“Well, it’s just the most important news ever!” Ron said, jumping up and down excitedly. “I mean it’s bloody awesome!”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “I almost died when I saw you jump on that dragon’s head, Harry. What were you _thinking_?”

“Not that much,” Harry admitted. “I’m not that good at aiming, y’know, and I thought the closer I am to her eyes the better.”

“Only you,” Ron said, shaking his head. “Jumping on a dragon’s head as if it was nothing. The very idea of getting that close is suicidal – Charlie said not even the most experienced dragon keepers would ever dare to do that.”

“Well, I had to come close, hadn’t I?” Harry defended himself.

“And then, using your cloak!” Hermione shrieked. “Why on earth didn’t you use the Conjunctivitis Curse?”

“I dunno,” Harry said who had wondered the same thing. “It just seemed so… cruel, you know? I didn’t want to hurt her,” he added softly, lowering his eyes.

“Clearly you spend way too much time with Hagrid,” Ron declared.

“Why should I have hurt her?” Harry asked sharply, his fury suddenly aflame. “She hadn’t chosen to be there, had she? In fact, from her point of view I was the evil one, trying to steal one of her eggs. She only defended her children and herself. It wouldn’t have been _fair_.”

“Fair!” Ron said, laughing. “Yeah, like that would have mattered! Treating a dragon fairly!”

“Well, maybe you think it’s funny, but I happen to know what it’s like to be treated _unfairly_ for no reason whatsoever,” Harry hissed, feeling suddenly reminded of his time with the Dursleys. He remembered how many times Dudley had done some bullshit and Harry had been punished for it, hit over the head by Aunt Petunia’s frying pan (probably he had gotten his good reflexes from ducking under her frying pan, he thought bitterly), and pushed into his cupboard with no food for days. Ron and Hermione didn’t know, Harry remembered, they didn’t know what it felt like to be starving, to go without food for a week, so hungry and desperate, to lie in a dark cupboard and wait, wait for the moment they may be let out again, yet full of fear what the next day might hold; and yearning, yearning for justice and fairness, so they might get food, too, and a room and maybe, maybe just a bit of love.

Suddenly, he didn’t feel like talking to Ron and Hermione anymore and he turned away from them, pulling the covers over his head. It was childish, he knew, but he couldn’t stand Ron’s laughing face and Hermione’s concerned all too knowing eyes right now. He heard Hermione hiss something and Ron said, hesitantly: “I didn’t mean it that way, y’know… Harry, c’mon…”

“Go away,” Harry said sullenly, his voice muffled by the blanket. “’M tired.”

“Harry…” Hermione whispered, placing a cool hand on his shoulder, but Harry shrugged it off. “Very well then, we’ll see you tonight,” Hermione said after a few seconds of silence. “Sleep well, Harry.”

Harry heard them leaving and bit his lip in order not to cry. He would not cry, not because of the bloody Dursleys, and not because his memories of that time always turned up so at the most inept moments. He should be euphoric right now, he had managed to complete the Task and was in the lead now although he realized that he didn’t even know how many points he had received.

Ron and Hermione didn’t know, so they couldn’t understand why he would never hurt someone – or something – that had nothing done to him – that was more Dudley’s style, really. He wished they would understand, but he didn’t want to tell them about his past, he felt incredibly embarrassed by his own weakness and he didn’t want anyone to know, really, that he had lived in a cupboard and that he had been treated like a House Elf and… he just didn’t want to think about it.

Slowly, he drifted off to sleep, his thoughts still circling around his time at the Dursleys.

When he awoke, he felt almost recovered and yawned so deeply his jaw cracked audibly. The Hospital Wing was bathed in soft pink light from the sun setting and Madam Pomfrey hurried over to him, checking his pulse and temperature. “It seems you are almost recovered,” she said, smiling. “Are you feeling well again, Mr. Potter?”

“Yeah,” Harry said and he did – the pain from the night before was no more than a hollow throbbing and though his left was still wrapped in bandages, it didn’t hurt anymore. “Wounds taken from dragon scales take quite a long time to heal,” Madam Pomfrey explained when she saw his glance. “It is because they are highly magical and a magical acceleration of the healing process might worsen the wound significantly. It should be gone in three or four days, though.”

“Oh, okay,” Harry said, frowning at his hand – at least it was his left and not his right so he wasn’t completely limited.

“I expect you would like to have dinner – I ordered the House Elves to prepare something for you; it should already be at Gryffindor Tower. I suppose you preferred your friend’s company for eating over mine.”

Harry blushed. “That is, um, very nice, Madam Pomfrey. Though I wouldn’t mind eating in your company.”

“Such a polite young man!” she gushed and Harry blushed even further. “And you do not hurt anymore?” she asked, sitting down on his bed.

Harry edged a bit away from her – it was not that he didn’t like her, he was just not that comfortable with people coming that close to him. “Um, no. I’m fine.”

“That is nice to hear. If you ever have any kind of… problems, please come to me, Mr. Potter. Should you ever be hurt, mentally or physically, please do not hesitate to speak to me.”

“Okay,” Harry said, a bit embarrassed, “I will… um, if I… um, need to.”

“Very well, if there is nothing else, you surely wish to join your friends for their celebration in Gryffindor Tower?”

“Yeah,” Harry said though he didn’t feel like celebrating all that much. “Thank you, and bye.” He practically ran from the Infirmary, but he stopped when Madam Pomfrey called his name. “Yes?”

“I would not have wanted to hurt the dragon, either,” she said, smiling. “I do understand you, Mr. Potter.”

Harry just nodded and fled.

In front of the Common Room, the Fat Lady was the first to congratulate him, raising her glass of pink champagne to him. “Well done!” she cried and downed the champagne only to refill it again. “No password needed for you today!”

“Um, okay,” Harry said slowly when the portrait opened – it didn’t seem very safe to him to just let someone in without a password. But any thoughts on security were immediately gone from his mind when he was greeted by an ear-splitting uproar. About ten people at once tried to jump at him, but the Weasley twins were fastest and successfully tackled him to the ground. Fred shouted something into his ear, but it was drowned in George’s roar of triumph. “Brilliant, mate!”

He didn’t know how, but after a few minutes in which he was hugged by what seemed like every single Gryffindor, Ron and Hermione managed to save him and tow him towards his favourite place by the fireplace. He thought he must surely be deaf by all the screaming and shouting and he felt incredibly hot for at least twenty Gryffindor scarves were wrapped around his body.

A tray with steaming food sat on a table where Dean and Seamus were already waiting to congratulate him. “No one allowed here except friends while he eats!” Ron bellowed, easily drowning out the hullaballoo – surely he must have inherited his mother’s voice, Harry thought with a small smile.

Neville, who had managed to squeeze through the students, looked crestfallen at Ron’s announcement, but his whole face lit up when Harry waved him over. “You flew really great, Harry,” he said shyly.

“Thanks,” Harry said between mouthfuls of food while he tried to fend the Weasley twins off who tried to dose him with something that was most certainly not butterbeer, but strangely not even Hermione seemed in the mood to scold them. He waved Neville closer who approached him with a hopeful expression on his face. “Hey Neville,” he said quietly, his voice drowned out by Seamus, Ron and the Weasley twins chanting a rather off-key version of “The Dragon That Stole the Witch”.

Now that his horrible embarrassment and acute anger had faded, he felt rather bad about the way he had treated Neville this morning. “Sorry about this morning,” he mouthed at Neville. “I was kind of… y’know, I had fucked up pretty badly… anyway, I’m really sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Neville said with a smile, patting Harry’s shoulder a bit awkwardly. “Um… I guess you don’t want to talk about it?“

“I’d rather not,” Harry said, shoving any thoughts about Flint very far from his mind. “So, how many points did I get anyway?” he asked Ron when he had finished his dinner after a lot of fumbling because he couldn’t really use his left hand, but he refused Ron’s help.

“You don’t even know?” Ron asked incredulously, almost dropping a bag of suspicious sweets, courtesy of his brothers, on Neville’s head, but then he remembered: “Oh right, yeah, we didn’t tell you… so, Maxime and Crouch gave you nine, Dumbledore and Bagman ten and Karkaroff gave you only six, that slimy little –”

Hermione cleared her throat pointedly. “Well, what matters is that you are in first place,” she said smiling. “I don’t think anyone would have thought that.”

“Well, I certainly didn’t,” Harry said grinning. He felt so relieved without the death threat of a dragon pending above his head – his fear hadn’t been exaggerated, however. “I thought I’d not even survive.”

“Mate, you _are_ the Boy-Who-Lived,” Ron said, “surely that title refers to dragons, too, doesn’t it?”

Their chat was interrupted by a few Firsties who began coughing and spitting smoke and sparks, one of them setting Neville’s cloak on fire. Neville yelped and Harry hastily put out the fire with a quick “ _Aqua!_ ” and checked the crowd for his suspected culprits.

“FREDERIC FABIAN AND GEORGE GIDEON WEASLEY!” he already Hermione’s yell. He and Ron broke into snickers (“always to the rescue, Harry, aren’t you?” Seamus yelled, pounding his back) whereas Neville tried to calm down the Firsties, one of whom had begun to cry – because she hadn’t received any of the sweets.

Harry didn’t even know when they went to bed that night, but it had been a really good party – Fred and George had managed to escape Hermione’s wrath, leaving spiked butterbeer (that made you speak backwards for half an hour) and some leftover Dragon Candy (and this time, it was Neville himself who set his cloak on fire); Seamus had distributed punch – that contained considerably more alcohol than Hermione would approve of – whenever she wasn’t looking, and there had been a short pandemonium after Neville had dropped the golden egg and horrible screeching sounds had emerged until Ron had managed to close it again. In general, Harry had a really, really good time.

So good it made him forget everything about Flint and he only remembered when he was in bed, trying to fall asleep despite Ron’s snoring. He pulled the curtains close to shut out at least some of the noise and closed his eyes, willing himself to fall asleep. But he couldn’t prevent the memories from Thursday night haunting his mind. _Flint, kissing him, his large, rough hands roaming over his body, making every nerve of his tingle with pleasure; and Harry himself, asking Flint to fuck him; and Flint thrusting into him, every thrust making him groan and writhe in pleasure; and Flint’s dark eyes fixed on his face, his gaze so intense it still made Harry shudder; and – he could only imagine that – Flint carrying him to his bed, through dark and lonely corridors; and Flint’s arm and leg draped possessively over him, and that wonderful feeling of being enveloped in security…_

Harry groaned and punched his pillow. If it went on like that, he would _never_ fall asleep.

 

xXx

 

During dinner the next day, waves of whisper surrounded him and people stared at him and pointed their fingers openly. Most of it didn’t sound very friendly (except for groups of Gryffindors, most of them with dark circles beneath their eyes, breaking into random cheers) and Harry felt increasingly uncomfortably. “What are they going on about?” he asked Ron quietly.

Ron just nodded to Hermione’s _Evening Prophet_. “It’s the article about the Task. Apparently you only won the Task ‘cause you’re famous.”

“Well, I didn’t,” Harry said, somewhat annoyed, “and besides, why do they care?”

“Well, you’re not exactly popular at the moment, remember?” Ron asked. “I guess everyone wanted bloody Diggory to be the best.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “It’s not like I asked for it.”

Ron placed a hand on his shoulder. “I know mate, but you know what people are like, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I do,” Harry said bitterly, stabbing at his toast with his fork. Suddenly he wasn’t hungry anymore and his mood didn’t improve when someone addressed him from the side. “Harry?”

“What?” he barked, whirling around and scowling at the intruder – it was Cedric, who looked at him with a sheepish smile, his arm bandaged and the left half of his face covered with an orange paste.

“Sorry,” Cedric said, clearing his throat, “I only wanted to congratulate you. You were brilliant yesterday, and you’re in first place now! So, congratulations for defeating Hogwarts’s honour and all that!” He had spoken considerably louder during his last sentence and the hostile murmur from the Hufflepuff table died down a bit.

“Oh,” Harry said awkwardly, “I didn’t mean to yell at you. Thank you. Would you like to sit with us?”

“Um, that would be lovely… but I was wondering if I could talk to you privately?”

“Why, sure,” Harry said, stuffing his toast into his mouth and frowning at Dean and Seamus who were snickering openly. Seamus even made kissing sounds until someone – Hermione, probably – kicked his shin.

“Don’t come back too late,” Ron said, “Fred and George mentioned something about having a second party tonight… what d’you say?”

“Yeah, fine,” Harry said, shrugging, and followed Cedric outside the Great Hall, and then onto the Grounds. “I hope you don’t mind,” Cedric said, “but I don’t like being watched… and neither do you, isn’t it?”

“Not particularly,” Harry agreed, “I’ve gotten used to it over the years, though. What happened to your face anyway?”

“Got a bit roasted by the dragon,” Cedric said casually and touched his face, but he winced and hastily put his hand down again. “My reflexes aren’t as good as yours, obviously.”

Harry blushed and mumbled something incomprehensible.

“Yeah, so…” Cedric stopped and cleared his throat again. “I wanted to thank you. For telling me. About the dragon, I mean. Yeah, I wouldn’t have stood a chance without you and would have embarrassed myself even more.”

“Oh,” Harry said, surprised. “It’s no big deal. I mean, the others knew, too, so I thought it wouldn’t be fair if you didn’t, you know?”

“Still,” Cedric insisted. “I bet most wouldn’t have done it. How did you find out, anyway?”

Harry grimaced. “You don’t even want to know.” Cringing, he remembered Flint telling him – alright, he did _not_ want to think about Flint right now – and the awkward date between Hagrid and Madam Maxime.

“I’d like to,” Cedric said with a smile.

“So, it was kind of a date between two people I know,” Harry said. “I just happened to, uh, follow them… well, I didn’t _mean_ to, but I did. Anyway, not very romantic, is it? Watching dragons during a date?”

Cedric laughed. “Not really, no. But what would _you_ like to do for a date?”

“Dunno,” Harry said, shrugging, “maybe go for a walk, without dragons, preferably? Or have something nice to eat? Or just sit by the fire and chat?”

“Well, that sounds nice,” Cedric said and smiled at Harry and it slowly dawned on him that Cedric might take that the wrong way – besides, _was_ Cedric trying to ask him for a date? Were Flint – and Hermione – actually right about him? “So, you dating someone?”

Okay, so he was trying to ask him for a date. “No,” Harry said slowly, a fierce blush creeping up his neck. Well, Cedric was sweet and nice and handsome, and Harry most certainly was _not_ dating Flint, but still, Cedric didn’t seem to be all that exciting whereas just thinking of Flint made goose-bumps run all over his body; the way he stared at him with his dark eyes, every gaze of his so very intense it burned on Harry’s skin.

“Ah,” Cedric said and he was blushing, too. “So, maybe you’d like to hang out with me some time?”

“Yeah… maybe,” Harry said; he didn’t want to tell Cedric no though he knew he probably wouldn’t _hang out_ with him – he almost snorted at the thought of Flint asking him if he wanted to hang out – he didn’t ask, he took what he wanted and Harry kind of liked that… more than he wanted to admit to himself. But he _had_ asked Harry about… well, best not think about it. “So, I’ve gotta get back, Ron mentioned something about a party earlier…”

“Right,” Cedric said, giving his shoulder a short squeeze. “It was nice talking to you, Harry. Have a nice party and I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah, see you, too,” Harry said, relieved that this really awkward conversation was over and hastily headed back to the castle.

He was just carefully stepping over a trick step on the very last step on the stairs towards Gryffindor Tower when someone addressed him from behind. “Potter.”

There was no way he wouldn’t recognize that dark drawl. “What do you want, Flint?” he asked, but Flint had already grabbed his shoulder and turned him around.

“We need to talk,” Flint said shortly, fixing Harry with his dark eyes.

“And you dared going right into lion’s territory?” Harry asked pointedly. “My, must be an important thing to _talk_ about.”

“It is,” Flint said, scowling. “Follow me.” He led Harry back down the stairs and unlocked a door to an unused classroom – from what it looked like, this one hadn’t been used for a few decades. “Prefect’s privilege,” he added at Harry’s raised eyebrows.

Inside, Harry dusted a table off with a swish of his wand and sat on the table, pulling Flint towards him. _Played long enough_ , he thought and grabbed Flint’s collar to pull him down to his height. Without saying a word, he kissed him, enjoying the warmth and taste of his mouth, moaning quietly, when Flint bit his lower lip carefully. He moaned again, with disappointment this time, when Flint interrupted the kiss way too early and looked down at him with a way-too-sincere gaze.

“Talking, Potter,” he reminded him, “not snogging.”

“Oh, so you actually wanted to talk,” Harry said, somewhat surprised and disappointed at the same time. He knew that they _had_ to talk about Thursday night, surely, but… maybe not today. Today he only wanted to enjoy himself, and having awkward talks with Flint took no part in that. “Do we have to? I’d like to…” He trailed off and played with Flint’s messily knotted tie, trying to take it off.

It was only then that Flint seemed to discover the bandages on his hand. “What’s that?” he asked grimly, a dark scowl on his face.

“I cut myself on the dragon’s scales,” Harry said absent-mindedly. “It doesn’t hurt anymore, though.”

Flint made a growling sound. “This shouldn’t have happened.” In an oddly tender gesture, he took Harry’s hand, stroking along his wrist and Harry shuddered; he was sensitive there… He closed his eyes and let his head loll back, enjoying Flint’s caresses; his fingers wandering along his wrist, and his forearm, and up to his throat…

Suddenly, Flint stopped and let go of him. “Talking, Potter. Stop distracting me.”

“If this is about Thursday night…” Harry didn’t want to talk now; he wanted nothing but to enjoy Flint’s touches.

“No,” Flint growled. “I have to tell you something – something I’m not proud of.” He looked down at his hands and breathed deeply – it was the second time Harry remembered seeing him nervous – the first time had been two nights before. “You remember I believed you when you said you didn’t put your name into the Goblet?”

“Yes,” Harry said slowly. “Do you know –”

“ _I_ put your name into the Goblet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: OH FLINT HOW COULD YOU.


	8. Chapter 8

“ _I_ put your name into the Goblet.”

Marcus had dreaded the moment he would have to say this – he had of course thought he would never have to say it – but this… _thing_ with Potter, whatever it was, had developed into a dangerous direction. He never would have thought it possible, but he actually had a bad conscience about not telling Potter earlier; his bad conscience had made his skin crawl after he had had sex with Potter – he wouldn’t have thought either that Potter would do that; had never thought it possible that Potter might even have the slightest interest in him – he had no delusions about looking good; he was ugly and he knew it.

Still, when Potter had looked at him, his bright green eyes so impossibly huge and full of lust, he had wondered what Potter might see in him – but so far, he hadn’t really cared; he always took what he wanted without asking, and Potter hadn’t been any different. But things had changed; he had wanted Potter for nothing but a fuck – or a few more; and then Potter had actually asked _him_ to have sex with him – and with that, somehow, _everything_ had changed, had made sleeping impossible and had made him cranky the next morning.

He hadn’t wanted to tell Potter directly before the Task, however, but the longer he tried to postpone it, the worse it got. He hadn’t felt bad about anything ever – he _was_ Marcus Flint, most feared student at Hogwarts, even the thought of having a bad conscience was ridiculous – until now. Until thrice damned Harry Potter had so unexpectedly stepped into his life and brought chaos into his future that had been so clear and simple.

Thrice damned Potter ruined everything; he made Marcus go _soft_ , when he looked at him with bright, green eyes; when he bit his lip while looking up at him through his dark lashes; when he gave witty retorts to whatever Marcus said; when he fought him so fiercely, with claws and teeth; when he kissed him, with his lips so soft and his fingers digging into Marcus’s shoulders; when he looked at him with his eyes full of want.

“What?” Potter asked quietly. His green eyes were huge and unbelieving now; his hands, which had rested on Marcus’ chest, dropped slowly.

“It was me,” Marcus repeated.

“What?” Potter asked again, but this time he was yelling. There was hurt in his eyes, a hurt that struck Marcus right in the core, only to be replaced by a blazing fury. He jumped down from the table, his hands curled into fists and his gaze fixed on Marcus’ face. “What do you mean you put my name into the fucking Goblet? Why would you do _that_?”

“My father told me to,” Marcus answered truthfully, “and he also told me to give you clues how to get through the tasks.” His father hadn’t said anything else, only ordered him to enter Potter’s name, adding that the Goblet had already been prepared to choose Potter. “And I will know when you tell a teacher about it,” he had said finally.

And that was how the disaster had begun – before, he had never paid Potter any mind – in fact, caring about younger students was below him – had thought Potter was a stuck-up little Gryffindor fool, but somehow, his interest had piqued with his father’s task – and from then on, he hadn’t been able to stop watching him; and he hadn’t been able to stop _wanting_ him.

“But why?” Potter yelled and tried to shove him, but the fact that Marcus didn’t even move seemed to make him only more furious. “Why would you do it? Is this one of Voldemort’s plots?”

Marcus winced at the name. “I don’t know,” he admitted, truthfully. “My father only gave me directions what to do; he didn’t say why.” So far, he had guessed that his father probably wanted him to prove his loyalty to the Dark Lord (assuming that he wanted to do some kind of comeback) and prove himself worthy of a Death Eater, but he was not even sure yet _if_ he wanted to become a Death Eater. These days, he knew nothing anymore, somehow Potter had messed up everything.

“He was a Death Eater, was he not?” Potter asked, his eyes blazing. “He served Voldemort, didn’t he?”

“He did,” Marcus admitted – his father had avoided Azkaban with the somewhat lame Imperius-excuse – and sometimes he wondered if his life might have been better, if his father had actually gone to Azkaban for the Dark Lord. “But I have no idea if… y’know, he’s active again.”

“And you just did what he told you?” Potter asked, looking at him incredulously.

“There is no way I could not obey my father,” Marcus said quietly, shuddering when he remembered his father’s punishments; back, when he had been young and stupid enough not to obey. His father was the only person he truly feared; his father had shaped his mind and his body to his liking; he had made him train and exercise, he had taught him dark magic and he had drummed into his mind that he must be a worthy heir of the Flint family. _“You are my heir and you will do as I say; you will not bring shame upon our family; but if you do, you will suffer the consequences all your life.”_

“You don’t know what he’s like,” Marcus added after a few seconds of silence.

“I think I know better than you might imagine,” Potter replied quietly, a sudden sadness in his eyes. “But still, why didn’t you tell Dumbledore that you were forced to enter my name?”

Marcus shrugged. “I thought about it,” he admitted, “but my father said he would know if I did and I don’t even want to think about what punishment he had in mind for that. And he is not one to make empty threats, you know.”

“I know,” Potter said, and for a moment his eyes were empty, looking at something Marcus could not see, “but that still doesn’t explain why you didn’t tell me earlier.” His last words sounded almost like Parsel; and it made a most inappropriate shudder of want run through Marcus’ veins.

“I hadn’t planned on telling you at all,” Marcus said which was probably the stupidest thing he could have said for Potter’s face turned dark.

“Yeah, so you didn’t,” he said, his voice so sharp Marcus almost flinched, “you only snogged me, and you sucked my cock and I sucked your cock, and you fucked me, and not once the thought of telling me crossed your mind?”

This time Marcus did flinch; Potter had an extraordinarily filthy mouth, particularly so when he was angry. He didn’t know what he might say to calm Potter down, so he told the truth: “You think I could’ve thought about anything but you?”

Potter snorted. “Stop it with the cheesy lines, Flint. Tell me, did your father tell you to fuck me, too?”

“No,” Marcus said, wanting to add something, but Potter snorted again and said: “I don’t even know if that makes it better or _worse_. And here I thought…” He looked sad for a moment, but then he blinked and shrugged and the moment was gone. “No matter. It’s over anyway. Leave me alone, got it?”

He stepped towards the door, but Marcus held him back with a hand on his shoulder. “Potter,” he growled. “I’m not done with you yet.”

Potter shrugged his hand off, eyes blazing. “What?”

“You won’t go and tell Dumbledore, will you? My father…”

“I’m not a squealer,” Potter said, “if that is what you think of me.” Oddly, he looked sad again for a moment. “It wouldn’t change anything anyway. It’s not like we…” He broke off and cleared his throat, looking at Marcus, his eyes intense and fierce. “Just so you know,” he said, “I’m not mad at you because you put my name into the Goblet, but because you didn’t tell me earlier, because you fucked me and didn’t tell me, because I thought we… doesn’t matter what I thought.”

This time, he wisely side-stepped Marcus’ hands and was gone before Marcus could hold him back to… well, he didn’t even know what he might do. _Damn selfless Gryffindors_ , he thought. He wanted Potter to be mad at him because of the bloody Tournament, because it wouldn’t have been his fault then, and he could have argued with that, but thrice-damned Potter was mad at him because he hadn’t told him _earlier_ – but of course Marcus couldn’t have, because this thing with Potter, it simply hadn’t mattered, had been little more that pastime – but why did it matter _now_?

The only thing he knew was that he would get Potter back. He didn’t know how, but he would. He was Marcus Flint, and he never gave up on anything.

 

xXx

 

Harry was fuming. Well, he was sad and disappointed, too, but he didn’t want to think about _why_ he was sad, and being furious was easier anyway, so he indulged in his anger, silently cursing Flint and everything he had done while running back to Gryffindor Tower.

He wanted to go flying, but he was still clear enough of mind to know that it was not a good idea to go flying in that mood, he wanted to smash something, but simply hitting a wall wouldn’t be enough, he needed to downright destroy something. He barked the password at the Fat Lady (who was drunk _again_ ) and stormed into the Common Room where pandemonium in form of a Gryffindor party was taking place. “Oi! Harry!” he heard Ron yell from their favourite seats by the fireplace, waving him over. “Get over here, mate!”

Ignoring him (and all the Gryffindors who were clutching at his arms), Harry stormed up the stairs to their dorm, slamming the door behind him so loudly that surely even Snape down in his dungeons must have heard it. He locked it with a hasty, but strong spell pattern and threw himself on his bed, punching at his pillow madly.

And suddenly, he felt too exhausted to even lift his hand, and he slumped on the bed, giving in to a flood of thoughts.

How could Flint have done that – he had lied to him, played with him all the time and Harry had thought, _stupidly_ had thought, that Flint could be kind-of-decent, almost likeable, and Harry had actually enjoyed the time he spent with him, had enjoyed his dark humour, his fierceness and his ruthlessness, had enjoyed spending time with someone who was so very different from all the people he knew. And embarrassingly – Harry’s face still burned when he remembered the scene in the classroom from a few minutes ago – he had given into Flint’s caresses way too easily... he wouldn’t have stopped Flint if he had torn off Harry’s clothes; hell, he wouldn’t even have stopped him if Flint had asked him if he wanted to have sex right there and now … despite everything that had happened after the First Task, Harry _still_ wanted him; and now that he knew what it was like, he had been even greedier… now, that the pain was gone, and his embarrassment had mostly faded – maybe he would’ve told Flint it was alright, that he wasn’t angry at him anymore; his skin still tingled at the thought of how intimate they had been; and now that the stress of the First Task was gone he wanted to repeat their experience – but not to be distracted from anything; but because he wanted nothing but that.

And then all of it had been some stupid plot.

Voldemort’s bloody plot, of course; Voldemort’s bloody plots ruined his life every damn time, whether they involved Basilisks or stones that made you kind-of-immortal or treacherous Slytherins; and the worst thing was that Harry had fallen for it. Yes, he had lived in the illusion – or delusion, rather – that Flint might maybe, _possibly_ , like him a little bit, that Flint might enjoy their time together, too, because he had been – well, not _kind_ , of course, but… as if he cared about Harry.

And he had helped him to master the Summoning Spell – well, but that had been part of the plot, too. And Harry had even _thanked_ him for it… and the worst thing about it was that he couldn’t deny that he _still_ wanted to have sex with Flint – no, wait, the _worst_ thing about it was how stupid he had been. How could he have believed Flint might actually be interested in him? How could he have been so very dumb?

“Harry?” he heard Ron’s voice from outside the barred door. “Are you alright in there? Don’t you want to come down to celebrate?”

“Does it look like I’m in the fucking mood to celebrate?” Harry yelled back. “Leave me alone, Ron!”

“Harry…” He heard Ron sigh. “D’you want to talk about it?”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“C’mon, Harry, don’t be like that. Just let me in and we’ll talk about it, okay?”

“Fuck off!” Harry yelled at the door. He was really not in the mood for a talk – and he really didn’t want to tell Ron anything about Flint.

He heard Ron trying different spells at the door, but none of them worked and for the shortest time, Harry was quite pleased with himself – at least all the time learning with Hermione had paid off – but it didn’t help him in his current situation at all.

Why couldn’t he just use a time-turner and go back to the day Flint had snogged him in the alcove and unmake everything that had happened? But he already heard a voice, sounding suspiciously like Hermione, rant at him: _Really, Harry, the past cannot be changed, you should know that._

Ron had obviously given up trying to open the door and returned to the Common Room. Harry sighed, burying his face in his hands and continued cursing Flint and berating himself.

 

xXx

 

Of course, Ron had returned without results and Hermione sighed. Now it was up to her, it seemed.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with him,” Ron complained as he sat back down with them. “He is so moody… he has been kind of weird for weeks – I know the Tournament is stressful, but he’s always had stress before and he has never been like that.” He sighed and sipped from his butterbeer.

 _Of course it’s different this time_ , Hermione thought, _this time someone else is involved_ – someone whose name she would pry from Harry and give that person a piece of her mind and then hex off his balls for making Harry go through all that. (Yes, she actually knew a spell for that – she _never_ made empty threats.)

“I will go and talk to him,” she announced just when Dean and Seamus had begun to discuss whether it was good idea to blow up the door.

“I don’t think he will let you in,” Ron said, frowning.

She shrugged; she was pretty sure Harry would let her in – and even if he didn’t, she still knew a lot more spells than him – and marched towards the boys’ dormitory. The party had ebbed somewhat after Harry’s entrance and some dedicated Seventh Years had even begun doing homework in a far corner of the Common Room.

She knocked on the door of the boys’ dormitory while quickly testing the spells on the door – oh, three interlaced locking spells, _neat_. Harry was really neither stupid nor untalented, as he often thought, but she hoped to make him see it one day. “I already told you to fuck off,” she heard Harry’s angry voice.

“It’s me,” she said. “Harry, will you let me in?”

“No,” he said sullenly.

Just as she had thought. She inhaled deeply. “HARRY JAMES POTTER, YOU WILL OPEN THAT DOOR NOW OR I –”

She hadn’t even finished her sentence when the door flew open, making her jump. At least he was seeing sense, she thought, closing the door behind her carefully, and walked up to him. He lay on his bed, his face buried in his pillow, his hands clenched into fists. She sat on the bed and raised her hand – but then she hesitated. She knew Harry wasn’t particularly fond of being touched, courtesy of his childhood with his relatives, but then she decided he couldn’t possibly get into an even worse mood than he was now. Carefully, she stroked his shoulder, but he didn’t react at all. “What is it, Harry?” she asked. “I think… well, _we_ think it would help if you talked to us about your problems.”

“You wouldn’t understand,” he mumbled and she sighed.

“Harry, don’t say that,” she said softly. “We are your friends, we will always understand you. Do you think it is easy for us if we know that you are not okay, but we can’t help you? We _want_ to help you, you know, but we can’t if you don’t talk.” She hesitated for a second. “This is about someone else, is it not?”

Harry gave no sign that he had heard her so she continued. “I assume it is complicated, is it not? You have been so moody those last weeks and you said it was because of the Tournament, but that is not the only reason, or is it? Is it about Cedric?”

This time, Harry did react: He turned around and looked at her, his face all scrunched up – he was unusually pale, but his eyes were dry, she noted. But then again, Harry was not one to cry – in all those years at Hogwarts she had not seen him cry once; not after he had seen Quirrell die – he might have been a follower of You-Know-Who, but still it must have caused some emotional trauma; not when he had been scorned and hated by everyone but Ron and her in his second year; not when he hadn’t been able to leave his relatives and live with Sirius; not when he had been chosen for the Tournament and he had almost broken under the stress; not when he had lost Quidditch Games (unlike Ron whom she had caught crying after the Chudley Cannons had lost their last match, like every other match last season); not when he was mercilessly mocked by Malfoy and tormented by Snape, just never. Sometimes she thought he _should_ cry as it might make it easier to process his feelings, but he would probably only tell her that crying didn’t help at all.

“Cedric?” he asked, blinking. “Why him?”

“So you’re not in a relationship with him?” she asked, somewhat surprised – she knew that Seamus and Dean and many others sometimes made comments behind Harry’s back about Cedric’s undying love for him and she was very sure that Cedric had quite a serious crush on Harry.

“Of course _not_ ,” Harry said. “Whoever brought that up?”

“No one,” she admitted. “Well, there _are_ rumours, quite many, actually, but I thought… well, I know you are gay and –”

“Excuse me?” Harry said sharply.

“Well, surely you didn’t think I wouldn’t know?” she asked with a smile, squeezing his fingers. “You are not very obvious, of course, but you know that I am attentive enough to draw the right conclusions.”

For quite some time now, she had nursed her assumption that Harry must be gay, for he never showed any interest in girls. Of course, all boys thought the girls never knew, but for one, Hermione was cleverer than most and besides she had eyes. She watched when they bumped each other, nudging their elbows when a girl walked by they thought pretty, quietly discussing in heated voices about this and that girl, trying to hide their worn-out copies of the _Playwizard_ in their messy dorms. But Hermione _knew_. And Harry had never even once participated in these actions; had turned down every girl that had thrown him hopeful glances – whether he had done it on purpose or not. And there had been quite some girls, and not all of them had only been after the Boy-Who-Lived.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, really,” she added when Harry buried his face in his hands.

“’M not ashamed,” he murmured. “It’s just… well, why can’t it ever be easy? It’s not that I mind being gay, not at all, but… I dunno…”

“I know,” she said quietly, “I know. But don’t worry, Harry –”

“I’m not worried about being gay,” he said sharply, but he looked sorry about his tone when she flinched.

“So you’re worried about whom you are with,” she concluded. “And he’s not Cedric, I assume?”

“No,” Harry said, frowning. “What is up with him anyway? Everyone constantly tells me he fancies me…”

“Well, it’s painfully obvious,” Hermione said, “anyone with eyes must see the way he looks at you, Harry, it’s just… well, _evident_.”

“I never realized,” Harry said, blinking and looking at her with huge green eyes, “but he did ask me for a date recently – well, not directly, but he asked me if I was dating someone and if I wanted to hang out with him some time.”

“So, _are_ you dating someone?” Hermione asked. Slowly they got to the point.

“ _No_ ,” Harry said, but then he faltered a bit. “Well, it’s not like… we’re _not_ dating. Not at all.”

“He’s a Slytherin, is he not?” she asked and the way Harry winced at that only confirmed her suspicion – if he were not a Slytherin, Harry already would have told them about it. Personally, she would place her bets on Malfoy; surely a relationship with Mr. Better-Than-Everyone-Else would be more than complicated. Or maybe on the guy who had played Seeker for Slytherin before Malfoy, What-was-his-name Higgs. But Malfoy seemed the likelier choice, considering how much he and Harry clashed – surely that must have ignited some sparks. But then she almost wished Harry was with Cedric – unlike Malfoy, he was kind, gentle and loyal and probably he would never hurt Harry.

“He’s not,” Harry said sullenly, but she knew he was lying and he knew that she knew, so she didn’t bother commenting his denial.

“Who is he?” she asked as non-chalantly as possible – maybe he would spill the name if she managed to take him by surprise.

“Won’t tell,” he just said. “No need trying, Hermione.”

“Did you fight?” she asked. “Did he hurt you?”

Harry sighed and buried his face in his hands again. “I already told you I didn’t want to talk about it.”

“So you fought,” she concluded. “But I’m sure if you talk about it –”

“I’m never talking to him again!” Harry hissed.

“Maybe if you tried… surely he would apologize?”

“He wouldn’t,” Harry said. “Besides, he did something _unforgivable_.”

Terror rose in Hermione’s chest – “He didn’t _hurt_ you, did he?” she whispered. “Harry, he didn’t…”

“What?” Harry said, blinking at her tone, but then he seemed to understand. “Gods no, Hermione. He just… _betrayed_ me in the worst way possible.” He curled his hands into fists.

“What did he do?”

“I can’t tell you,” Harry said. “I… can’t. But… I was so _stupid_. How could I have been so dumb? How could I ever have thought he… nevermind.”

“Why can’t you tell?” Hermione asked, frowning.

“Because… I _promised_. I just can’t, okay?”

She sighed. “Okay. Why don’t you go to sleep now? I’m sure everything will be different in the morning. And maybe you can talk to Ron about it, I’m sure he’ll understand.”

“I’m not so sure,” Harry murmured, but he didn’t object when she pulled the covers up and closed the curtains around his bed.

“But, Harry…” She hesitated and bit her lip. She didn’t _want_ to ask, but she felt like she should. “You and him, you have been careful, yes? You saw the book I… well, you know?”

“ _Hermione_ ,” Harry said, sounding terribly embarrassed, and hid his dark red face in his pillow, his voice a bit muffled by the fabric. “Yes, I’ve been careful. But that’s not the point here.”

“Well, that’s good to know. Just… just sleep on it for a night; and you’ll see you’ll feel better tomorrow. Good night, Harry.” She hesitated for a moment, then she stroked his hair and gave him a short peck on the cheek. “Sleep well, Harry.”

He blinked at her owlishly, obviously confused, but then he said: “G’night, Mione.” And even before she had stepped away from the curtains, his eyes had closed and his breathing had become deep and slow.

She smiled down at him and left the dormitory quietly. No matter how much Harry denied it, claiming he needed no mother; deep down she knew that he sometimes needed someone to play his mum. She and Ron had had a talk about it at the beginning of the school year; he had told her how his Mum had taken to putting him to bed again after their first year, just so she could put Harry to bed, too, while he was at the Burrow. At first, Ron had complained, of course, but then he had seen how bright and excited Harry’s eyes had been whenever the clock hand neared ten pm, how he had smiled when Mrs Weasley tucked him in, wished him a good night and given him a kiss on the cheek.

It had made her so desperately sad she had spent hours crying in her bed that night, remembering all the times her mother had put her to bed and tucked her in, read her a good night story and given her a good night kiss; and that Harry was so desperate for things she and Ron felt way too old for. She imagined little Harry, waiting for his aunt to put him to bed as she had surely done with his cousin, and then crawl into his own bed, lonely, without anyone to give him a good-night-kiss – and had he even had a stuffed animal? She doubted that very much, considering how much time Harry could spend caressing his beloved owl, whom he spoilt just a bit too much.

Even thinking of that made tears well up in her eyes again and she promised herself that she would look after Harry better, that she would care more about him. No matter how independent and self-reliant you were – and Harry was _very_ independent – sometimes you just needed someone who held you and told you everything would be okay.

She had asked him to tell Dumbledore about it; surely Dumbledore wouldn’t make Harry stay there any longer, would he? But Harry insisted that he had already told the Headmaster and that he had said Harry must stay there – for security reasons, apparently. Still, she wondered whether Harry had tried hard enough to convince Dumbledore – knowing his self-sacrificing nature, he probably hadn’t. She had thought about talking to Dumbledore herself, then, but Harry must have guessed her thoughts because he had sharply told her to leave the issue alone and that she’d better not bother Dumbledore about it. She didn’t want to pry into his personal life, she knew how sensitive he was about things he considered private, but still she didn’t know what was right in that situation.

“Harry’s asleep,” she only said when she returned to the boys sitting by the fire, playing Exploding Snap again. She shook her head when Ron wanted to ask something and he closed his mouth again. Ron could be stubborn and a bit slow; he was easily angered and could be very annoying; but he was a really good friend, too, loyal and understanding and patient; the best friend Harry could hope for. “Good night, Ron.”

“Good night, Hermione,” he said, smiling at her and, for reasons she didn’t know, her heart beat a little bit faster just then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So, for the first time, I wrote Flint’s POV – how did you like it? Also, there will be more plotty stuff with Flint and his father coming up, so stay tuned! Please write a review and let me know what you thought about this chapter!


	9. Chapter 9

A week had passed since Flint’s confession and Harry had avoided him the best he could; always walking with Ron and Hermione or the other Gryffindors to their classes; making wide detours around a certain corridor; never looking at the Slytherin table during meals. Still, he could feel Flint’s eyes burning on his skin; he knew Flint watched him during the meals, but Harry was careful to never even glance at him; and sometimes he almost thought Flint might try to talk to him, but he was careful to be surrounded by his friends and classmates at all times.

He was trying to be subtle, of course, but sometimes Hermione frowned at him when she mentioned she had to pick up a book from the Library and Harry insisted on accompanying her, or Ron looked at him weirdly when Harry asked him to walk him all the way to Gryffindor Tower because he had forgotten something in their dorm. But so far, he had held himself quite well.

This evening, however, he had to face Neville’s inquisition. “Harry, there is something strange about you,” he announced while piling potatoes on his plate.

“There is not,” Harry said immediately.

“Ha!” Ron said, nudging him with his elbow. “You know that’s not true – even if you weren’t behaving weirdly at the moment, there is always something going on with you – you’re the youngest Champion at the Triwizard Tournament, you are the youngest Seeker for over a century at Hogwarts, the only known living Parselmouth –”

“Oh, stop it,” Harry said, a bit annoyed.

“Well, there is something going on,” Neville continued as if neither Ron nor Harry had said anything. “It is almost as if you are afraid… for all these years, you have been about alone in the castle, doing stuff I probably don’t want to know –” _no, you don’t_ , Harry thought, remembering the little scene in the alcove with a stab of pain, “but for a week, you have been following us like a puppy.”

“I have not!” Harry bristled, outraged at the comparison.

“But it is true,” Ron said. “Denial declined.”

“I am not following you like a puppy,” Harry insisted, jumping to his feet. “See you later,” he said to Hermione, who had been reading and not paid any mind to their conversation, and dashed off before she could do more than blink. Still, he heard Ron snicker behind him.

As soon as he had left the Great Hall, however, he regretted his quick take-off for he saw a burly figure moving in the shadows – well, _fuck_.

“Harry!” someone said behind him and he hastily turned, smiling at his saviour who turned out to be Cedric – a knight in shining armour, indeed. “Can I talk to you?”

“Of course,” Harry said. “How are your burns healing?”

“Oh, they have been gone for a few days actually,” Cedric replied with a bright smile. “Thanks to Madam Pomfrey’s skills, of course. Anyway, I was wondering… uhm… you know, tomorrow is Hogsmeade weekend and I thought…”

“Yes?” Harry asked slowly, blinking to the figure in the shadows – yes, it was Flint, definitely.

“So… do you have any plans?”

Cedric was getting serious, then… Harry shrugged. “Dunno, hanging out with Ron and Hermione, I guess.”

“So… I thought… maybe… I dunno if you want to…” _C’mon, spit it out_ , Harry thought, nevertheless he smiled at Cedric patiently. “Would you like to have a butterbeer with me?” he blurted.

“Yeah, why not,” Harry said loudly. “Sure, that would be lovely. I’ll probably have lunch with Ron and Hermione at the Three Broomsticks, so should we meet there at two pm?”

“With your friends?” Cedric looked crestfallen. “I’d love to get to know to them, of course,” he added after a few seconds, blushing.

“I’ll get rid of them, don’t worry,” Harry said.

“Oh,” Cedric said, a relieved smile on his face. “Oh, that’s nice, really. I mean, it’s not like I don’t want to meet them, but…”

“So, see you tomorrow,” Harry said, turning a bit as if to leave.

“Yes,” Cedric said, “yes, see you tomorrow. Have a good night, Harry.” He hastily turned around and almost fled.

Harry frowned after him, then he shrugged – so, he had a date with Cedric now. It might be nice, actually – Cedric was handsome and a bit shy – well, more than a bit shy – but he was very nice and sweet, which might be a nice change after Flint. Talking of Flint…

“Potter,” he growled as soon as Cedric had left, stepping out of the shadows. “What do you think you’re doing? Hanging out with _Diggory_?”

“I’d rather hang out with him than with you,” Harry said coolly. “I told you to leave me alone, but obviously you are lacking the ability to understand simple orders – so, I’ll tell you again, Flint: Leave. Me. Alone.”

“I told you I’m sorry,” Flint snarled. “What do you want me to do, kneel before you and beg your forgiveness?”

“I don’t want anything from you. Stop bothering me, Flint.”

“I don’t want you to hang out with that wimp,” Flint hissed, grabbing his wrist, but Harry pulled his arm back.

“Jealous?” he drawled – it did feel good to get the upper hand again.

“Of that Hufflepuff prick? Are you kidding me?”

“Maybe you should, though,” Harry said.

This time, he did run off – he knew that Flint wouldn’t stand a chance; thanks to years of training, Harry was a very fast runner.

As soon as he was up on the fourth floor, he stopped running and walked briskly instead, still pondering about Flint. He had thought and thought about it, but he still didn’t know if he should go to Dumbledore. Surely Dumbledore should know about another of Voldemort’s plans in motion, but then again the Headmaster certainly had that already figured out. Dumbledore could be a bit annoying at times, but he was neither stupid nor blind, so Harry wondered what kind of news exactly he should deliver to the Headmaster – that his name had been entered on Voldemort’s orders? Well, who else might have ordered it? That Voldemort was once again hatching one of his evil plans? Hardly any news there.

Besides, Harry had promised Flint not to tell – and he was not one to break his promises. Even when Flint was an asshole and Harry never wanted to talk to him again, it went against his honour to break a promise. And he had figured that if Flint was supposed to give him clues how to get through the tasks, Voldemort probably actually wanted him to get through the First and Second Task, for whatever reason, so he still had some time to make up his mind. He decided to put the issue off until he had some more clues – he didn’t want to waste the Headmaster’s time with vague suspicions.

No one had returned from dinner yet when Harry stepped into the Common Room, so he used the quiet to do his Transfiguration homework – he really needed to get his stuff done. He didn’t have that much detention anymore, luckily, but he was still at thrice per week which ate up a lot of his time.

He was almost done when Ron slumped into the seat next to him and Hermione dropped her books on the table. With a short glance Harry checked that no one was in ear-shot, then he gave Ron and Hermione a meaningful look and bowed forward. “Gotta tell you something,” he murmured.

He saw Ron and Hermione exchange a short glance, then Hermione said quietly: “Yes, Harry?”

“I’ve got a date with Cedric tomorrow.”

“No way!” Ron yelled, drawing the attention of the whole Common Room. He ducked and murmured an apology at Harry and Hermione’s scornful expressions. “I mean, like seriously? _Diggory_?” he whispered.

“Oh, wait,” Harry said, feeling incredibly dumb, “I didn’t even tell you I’m gay.”

“Well, I already had that figured out,” Ron said, “it wasn’t that hard… I’ve known since last year, in fact.”

“But I only realized during the holidays,” Harry said, stunned.

“We all know you can be a bit slow at times,” Ron said, evading Harry’s punch. “Anyway, Diggory? Really?”

Harry shrugged. “Why is everyone so upset about that?”

“Everyone?” Hermione asked frowning.

“Well, erm, you two, I mean. What about him?”

“So you’re telling me Seamus was actually right about Diggory mooning over you and I thought he was talking bullshit all the time?”

“This has been going on for months,” Hermione said with a slight smile.

“I hadn’t realized before,” Harry said sullenly.

“So, everyone but you – and me, ‘course – knew,” Ron said, grinning, “so did he finally have the balls to ask you?”

“He did, but it took him a while to spit it out,” Harry said and Ron broke into snickers.

“Really, boys,” Hermione scolded them, “that was unasked for. I think it is sweet he finally asked you. What are you going to do?”

“Just have a butterbeer, I guess.”

“You sure that’s a good idea?” Ron asked. “I mean, _everyone_ will be in the Three Broomsticks… watching you, probably.”

“Oh right, I had forgotten about that,” Harry moaned – mostly, being famous was crap – well, _everything_ about being famous was crap. “What do you suggest I do?”

“Well, there is this café called Madam Puddifoot’s…”

“Er, no,” Ron said vehemently, “Harry, don’t go in there! It’s for couples only and everything is very… couple-ish.”

“That might give off the wrong vibe,” Harry agreed. “So, should I just meet with him somewhere, uhm, not-public?”

“Exactly,” Ron said, patting his back, “just owl him, otherwise this might get a bit awkward.”

 

xXx

 

“You should leave!” Hermione insisted, tapping her watch for emphasis. “You’ll be late!” They were sitting in the Three Broomsticks and had just finished a most delicious chocolate pudding, discussing fervently.

“He can’t be early,” Ron argued back. “I saw Cedric leaving about fifteen minutes ago, so he’ll already be there.”

“Which is even more reason to leave now!”

“But you can’t be early, Harry,” Ron said, “you _have_ to be late on a date. Make him wait. Make him nervous.”

“Where did you take that piece of advice from?” Hermione asked pointedly. “From your profound knowledge of dating?”

Ron blushed, but he didn’t give in. “You don’t want to seem too eager, Harry,” he said.

“No, actually I don’t,” Harry agreed and Ron laughed out loud.

“Harry, don’t… be like that with Cedric, okay? He probably can’t take it… oops, sorry, ‘Mione.”

“You should be ashamed of yourself,” Hermione declared. “Don’t be mean; Cedric is really nice.”

“I’m sorry, Harry… but you know I’m not serious.”

“I know,” Harry said, getting up. “I probably should leave now, though.”

“Good luck!” Hermione said, smiling and squeezing his hands. “Make sure to tell us everything tonight.” Ron only patted his shoulder and winked at him.

As Ron had predicted, Cedric was already waiting for him by the fence around Hogsmeade, glancing at his watch nervously every few seconds. But as soon as he spotted Harry, he waved and smiled. “Hey Harry!”

“Hi,” Harry said, pulling his scarf a bit tighter – it was December already and snow was piled along the streets; and the wind was cold and biting. “Sorry I’m late; I was held up by Ron and Hermione.”

“It’s no problem at all,” Cedric assured him. “So… um, how was your day? What did you do?”

“I picked up a few presents for Christmas and I had lunch with Ron and Hermione,” Harry said, “nothing exciting so far.”

“I did pretty much the same,” Cedric said, laughing nervously. “What would you like to do? Go for a walk, maybe? Out of sight of the village?”

Harry shrugged. “Sounds nice.”

“Where would you like to go?”

Harry grinned. “Might be I lied to you when you asked me how I’d like to spend a date; I’d prefer a bit more excitement than a simple walk… let’s go to the Shrieking Shack.”

“What?” Cedric asked, aghast. “But it’s haunted! It’s dangerous!”

“It’s not, I assure you, c’mon… it will be a nice walk.”

Cedric shuffled his feet nervously, but then he nodded and managed a shaky smile. For a few minutes they walked in silence and Harry used the time to sneak a few looks at Cedric – he was really handsome. He was maybe five or six inches taller than Harry, and lean, with a pretty face with flawless, slightly tanned skin and high, prominent cheekbones; his grey eyes bright and a slight smile on his face.

Harry couldn’t help himself but compare him to Flint – Cedric was definitely a lot prettier, and he didn’t even want to compare their characters… alone thinking about Flint made his temper flare again; even a week later, he was still furious at him, how could he have done all that without even saying a word? And how could Harry have been so fucking stupid? Falling for him like that – and Flint hadn’t even _tried_ being nice…

“Harry?”

“Huh?” he said, abruptly ripped from his thoughts. “Oh sorry, I didn’t hear you. What were you saying?”

“I was just wondering how much you knew about the Shrieking Shack.”

“Oh, it’s a bit rampaged, but not actually dangerous… but I think the view from up there is quite nice.”

“How do you know it’s rampaged?”

“What do you think?” Harry frowned; sometimes Cedric seemed to be a bit slow… well, at least for someone who was supposedly the best student in his year (or at least Hermione had claimed that). “I was in there, of course.”

Cedric stopped dead in his tracks, staring at him incredulously. “You were in there? How did that happen?”

“It’s a long story… and I can’t really tell you – but, well, Hermione and I had to save Ron who happened to be in the Shrieking Shack, so we had to go in there and… it was at the end of last school year, so the Dementors were hanging about, too… it wasn’t a very pleasant experience.”

Cedric shook his head. “Really, how do you do all that stuff? Going into the Chamber of Secrets; going into the Shrieking Shack… why would you?”

Harry sniffed. “I’m saving people, of course. Hermione says I’ve got a people-saving-thing.”

“I think that’s sweet,” Cedric said and smiled at him.

“Eh… okay,” Harry said, slightly confused.

“I think… well, I think you are… sweet, anyway,” Cedric said hesitantly. “I mean… well… not only like, cute, but also lovable and… gifted and funny…” He swallowed and smiled nervously.

Harry stopped walking; they were not far from the Shrieking Shack now and out of sight from Hogsmeade. He was kind of curious… and yet again, in one of those I’ll-risk-anything-today moods. And, maybe, just maybe, he wanted to take a bit of revenge on Flint. Maybe.

“You want to make out?” he asked.

“ _Excuse me_?” Cedric said, flabbergasted

Harry rolled his eyes – really, Cedric was older than him, but he seemed to be the really shy type. “Well, why did you want to go for a walk _out of sight_ of Hogsmeade then?”

“Well… I thought it was romantic… and you said you would like to go for a walk on a date…” Cedric blushed fiercely.

For a moment, Harry wondered what Flint might have done – provided Flint would do unmanly stuff like going for a romantic walk. Probably Flint already would’ve torn off half his clothes, snogging the hell out of him… okay, he should really stop comparing Cedric to Flint, he told himself. “Don’t you want to?” he asked instead.

Cedric blushed even further. “It’s not that I don’t want to… I thought it was a bit early…”

Oh right, Cedric was one of the good guys, Harry remembered. He shrugged. “Whatever, it’s fine.”

“No, I mean… like… Harry, would you… would you like me to kiss you?”

“Yes,” Harry said, slightly impatient – Flint wouldn’t have asked, he knew. _Alright, enough about Flint._

Cedric hesitated again, and then he stepped closer to Harry, taking Harry’s hands into his and bowed down a bit. Well, one good thing was that Cedric was not _that_ tall, Harry thought vaguely before their lips touched. Cedric’s lips were soft and warm on his and felt very nice; and after a few seconds, Harry parted his lips slightly to deepen their kiss, but Cedric pulled back and smiled a bit sappily.

“That was nice,” he said.

 _Yes_ , Harry thought, _but that’s all it was_. With sudden determination, he grabbed Cedric’s collar, pulled him down and kissed him again; but this time he managed to make Cedric open his mouth; and he invaded Cedric’s mouth (he did taste very sweet, Harry thought absently), pressing his body against Cedric’s so he had to take a step back in order not to fall.

This time, he wouldn’t let go of him that easily. He kept Cedric’s collar securely in his left to keep him in place whereas his right snuck right under Cedric’s cloak, impatiently digging for skin – my, Cedric _did_ wear a lot of layers. There he was; contently Harry let his fingers wander over Cedric’s stomach – it seemed he was well-trained, too. Cedric moaned for the first time, and, trembling slightly, his fingers stroked over Harry’s back, sneaking inside his clothes… Harry had to supress a sharp intake of breath; Cedric’s fingers were _cold_.

Yet, it felt good, Cedric’s fingers on his skin, stroking and caressing; and slowly his fingers slipped deeper down; and that was even nicer… Harry moaned again, his fingers digging into Cedric’s skin as he pulled him even closer, and then he felt Cedric’s erection pressing against his own; and he began moving his hips slowly…

“Stop!” Cedric gasped, interrupting their kiss and pulling back. “Stop, Harry, for Merlin’s sake, stop it!”

A bit huffy, Harry stopped and blinked up at Cedric, whose face was bright red with his lips slightly swollen.

“ _Don’t_ ,” Cedric said, running his hand through his perfectly-styled hair and messing it up, “I never meant to go that far… I’m sorry, Harry, I’m really sorry, I got carried away… this never should have happened…”

“No need to apologize for anything,” Harry said sullenly. _He_ had enjoyed it and Cedric denying that he had enjoyed it, too, kind of spoiled it.

“Well, I… I’m sorry, Harry, I don’t want to rush anything… it should be slow, okay?”

“Didn’t _feel_ like you didn’t want to rush anything,” Harry said pointedly and crossed his arms.

“ _Gods_ , Harry.” Cedric ran his hand through his hair again. “I mean, it was very nice… brilliant, really… but I’ve waited so long for this and I want it to be special, okay? I don’t want to do things… you don’t want to do.”

“I assure you, you didn’t,” Harry said and decided not to add that he wouldn’t have minded at all if things had gone further.

“Good,” Cedric said. “That’s good. I mean, I dreamed of… of this for so long and I want it to be perfect.”

 _Oh, so he’s romantic indeed_ , Harry thought. “How long have you been waiting, anyway?”

“Since our Quidditch game last year, in fact.” Cedric smiled sheepishly and Harry wondered since when pretty much everyone except him had realized that Cedric had been interested in him for quite some time now. “You look amazing when you’re on a broom and I kind of might have watched you instead of the Snitch most of the time.”

“Still, you caught it,” Harry said who still hadn’t gotten over that incident completely.

“Only because you were incapacitated,” Cedric said with a smile, “we both know that you’re the better flyer by far. And I wanted to repeat the game, remember?”

“I remember,” Harry said; that had been really nice and more than fair by him.

“And I was really worried about you. I don’t know if Wood ever mentioned it, but I pestered him pretty much every hour or so about your condition.”

“He didn’t,” Harry said and he couldn’t prevent that he blushed, too. Cedric was _really_ sweet. And obviously he had a very serious crush on Harry – like, really serious.

“Ah, yes, well…” Cedric cleared his throat. “Should we go back?”

“Yes, it’s getting late,” Harry said, but when Cedric turned around to leave Harry held him back. “Wait. One more kiss?”

Cedric smiled and shrugged. “If you want to.”

“Yes,” Harry said – Cedric didn’t kiss half as well as Flint (there he went again with the Flint-comparisons…) but you had to take what you got. Snogging with _him_ was beyond all question.

Just when Cedric took his hands again and smiled shyly at him, an inhuman shriek of fear and terror rang through the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Ladies and gents, Mr. Cliff Hanger is most enchanted to make your acquaintance!  
> On another note, some of you probably won’t like the Harry-and-Cedric-thing, but you all know you want Jealous!Flint, right?! And remember, the pairing will be Harry/Marcus, so no need to panic! Please review and let me know what you think!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!!IMPORTANT – PLEASE READ!!!  
>  A few notes to this chapter: What happens here might seem a bit random and confusing, but I assure you it’s not – the being in question will be important in later chapters! Further explanations about the being in question (I made a little deviation from canon here and Harry already knows about them) will be at the end of the chapter.  
> And now, enjoy!

“What was that?” Harry gasped, looking around wildly. “Where did that come from?”

“Huh?” Cedric said, frowning. “Did you hear something?”

“Well _yes_ , a scream,” Harry said. “Didn’t you hear it?”

“No,” Cedric replied, looking at him weirdly. _Not again_ , Harry thought, hopefully he was not hearing voices again like in his second year – well, the voice had happened to be a Basilisk in the pipes back then, but that hadn’t been Parsel. Harry was _very_ sure that snakes didn’t scream like that. “Are you alright, Harry?”

“Yes, I am,” Harry said, “and don’t you dare telling me I imagined it.”

“Of course not,” Cedric said, a bit hastily. “Well, where did it come from?”

“It came from the Forbidden Forest,” Harry said immediately – he was very gifted at locating screams and shouts – he had to, after all, in order to know from which direction Dudley would come at him. (Luckily, Dudley was not intelligent enough to realize that he should not bellow like a maniac whenever he and his friends were chasing Harry.)

“Uhm… what do you want to do then?” Cedric asked.

“It sounded like a cry for help,” Harry said and began jogging into the direction of the Forbidden Forest.

“Wait!” Cedric said loudly, grabbing his arm. “Are you _mad_? You don’t really want to go in there, do you?”

Harry frowned at him. “ _I_ will be going, but you don’t have to come with me.”

“Don’t,” Cedric pleaded. “Please, Harry, this is madness! Let’s go to the castle and get help.”

“You can go to the castle, I’m going into the Forest,” Harry said, finally managing to wriggle his arm free from Cedric’s grip. He didn’t know why, but he had never been more certain that his help was needed. It felt almost as if he were called by someone – _something_.

Cedric bit his lip and breathed deeply. There was another shriek, louder and even higher this time, and Harry moved into the direction of the Forest again. “I’m going with you,” Cedric decided. “I can’t let you go on your own.”

“I’m not a maiden who needs to be protected,” Harry hissed at him – he most certainly wasn’t a maiden anymore, that much was for sure.

“I’m going with you,” Cedric insisted and Harry gave in.

“Whatever, off we go!” He started running, with Cedric scrambling after him. Harry was quite sure where they were going – the screams had come from the Forest, but not far away from the outline of the Forest – so he wouldn’t have Cedric whining about going into the Forest too far, too – well, that had been nasty. At least he was trying to help.

Only about two hundred yards into the Forest, running between trees and navigating carefully so as not to stumble over twigs and roots on the ground, Harry heard another screech from his left and he hastily turned there, breaking through brushwood and jumping over fallen trees.

Suddenly, he stood on a small clearing where a shapeless silhouette lay on the ground; and a thestral, wings spread and teeth bared, was prancing around the silhouette and – Harry swallowed – there were three acromantulae between the trees, which were obviously trying to get to the bundle on the ground.

With a hiss and a hasty gesture he held Cedric, who had been stumbling after him, back from walking into the clearing.

The thestral had several deep gashes along its legs and stomach and it limped a bit, but it didn’t seem willing to give up yet. However, the acromantulae attacked it again in a matter of seconds and this time it fell, with another shrill scream and a nasty cracking sound. Harry knew he had to act now or never.

Cedric’s eyes were wide with panic. “What are we gonna do?” he breathed.

“You stay here,” Harry ordered and before Cedric could protest, he ripped the Invisibility cloak from his bag and threw it over himself.

“No!” Cedric whispered vehemently, but it was too late. After making sure he was completely covered by his cloak, Harry crept closer while the spiders seemed to fight over the body of the fallen thestral with clicking sounds.

As soon as he was close enough, he hit the spider nearest to him with a _Stupor_ underneath its belly – where their weakest point was, as he knew all too well. Its legs crumbled and it fell to the floor; the other spiders made furious clicking sounds, one of them running into Harry’s direction, but he hit it with another _Stupor_ and it fell, too. Unfortunately it almost buried him underneath its body and Harry had to jump back; and he stumbled and fell and his invisibility cloak slipped away.

The last spider clicked its pincers impossibly fast and attacked him with brute force; its pincers glistening with venom, and one drop of it fell onto Harry’s naked wrist. He screamed with fear and pain, watching with horror when the skin was _etched away_. A numb feeling crawled through his hand, up his arm; and the spider grabbed him with four of its thick, hairy legs.

“ _Stupor!_ ” he heard Cedric yell, but he only hit the spider’s back where it was protected by its thick skin, as hard as a shield. The spell had no effect but infuriating the spider even further and Harry saw its pincers nearing his face at an alarming speed.

Luckily, the venom had only hit his left arm, so he pointed his wand at the spider’s stomach and gasped “ _Stupor!_ ” again.

So close, the effect was enormous – the spider was blown backwards, pulling Harry with it and burying him underneath its body. He lay motionless for a few seconds; then Cedric’s fearful face appeared above his own and he helped pulling his body from underneath the acromantula.

“Are you alright?” Cedric panted, touching his cheek carefully. “Are you hurt?”

“’M fine,” Harry said shortly, ignoring his arm – the numb feeling had crept up to his elbow by now, but he had to help the thestral first.

When he had finally managed to free himself from the spider completely, he lay on the ground motionless for a few seconds, panting heavily. Then he stood up slowly, ignoring Cedric’s outstretched hand, and stumbled to the silhouette on the ground which turned out to be a baby thestral – the scales were of a light grey instead of black, the tiny wings fluttering feebly and its fangs were almost cute.

It made a whimpering sound and Harry saw that one of its legs was broken, as it stuck out at an odd angle. It shied back when Harry came nearer, but he tried to calm it down by making cooing sounds and moving only very slowly.

Its strange eyes, huge and white without pupils, blinked and it stretched its snout forward. Harry smiled and patted the snout carefully; the foal snorted and nuzzled his hand with its head. Scratching its head with his right, he inspected the leg more closely – yes, it was definitely broken, but he had no idea how to heal it, so he would have to bring the foal to someone who knew – Madam Pomfrey, possibly?

The other thestral gave a weak snort and Harry turned around to inspect its wounds – this one was a lot worse off. Along the belly and its hind legs most of the scales had been etched off, revealing charred flesh and thin, white bones underneath, and its breath came in short, pained gasps. Carefully, Harry stroked its long, slender neck, desperately trying to think of a solution – he had no idea how to heal these wounds – and probably it had internal wounds, too, about which he knew even less.

At first the thestral pulled its head back, but then it stretched its head forward, searching his hand. “I wish I knew how to heal you,” Harry whispered and the thestral made a sad sound. Its snout touched his fingers, nuzzling a bit.

“What are you _doing_?” he heard Cedric ask in a strange voice.

Harry turned to him. “Can’t you see thestrals?”

“What?” Cedric said, aghast; but then, he seemed to understand. “Oh, there are thestrals here? No, I can’t see them.”

So, maybe that would explain why Cedric hadn’t heard the screams either… hopefully.

“We need to get help,” Harry decided, “both of them are hurt, this one quite badly.” He stroked the thestral’s snout and it gave a weak snort; and then, without a warning, it bit him.

There was a pain he had never known before, but, oddly, not in his hand, but in his head instead. Harry screamed and screamed; and the world around him drowned in darkness. _You have been touched by death before_ , a voice whispered in his head, quiet, but clearly audible, and his scar was aflame with pain, _and you will be touched again. We know those who know death. Leave me, but save my son who called for you._

Then, the pain slowly ebbed and Harry pulled his hand back, gasping. What had that been? The thestral made a feeble, gargling sound, then its head sank to the floor and its eyes closed. “Oh no,” Harry whispered, stroking the thestral’s scales, “oh no, please don’t…”

“Merlin, Harry, what happened?” Cedric came closer hastily, almost stepping on the thestral’s delicate legs. “Why were you screaming?”

“It bit me,” Harry said, inspecting his hand – there was a little trickle of blood running down his wrist, but it didn’t hurt very much. He decided not to mention the voice in his head – Cedric was freaking out badly enough already. Cedric pulled his wand, looking determined to defend Harry, but Harry shook his head. “It’s dead,” he said sadly.

The foal whimpered, which sounded almost like a sob, oddly, and tried to get up, but the broken leg couldn’t hold the weight and so he broke to the floor again. “Be careful,” Harry said, “don’t… don’t try to get up. I’ll have to get you out of here.” He had no idea for how long the spiders would be knocked out – he only knew he didn’t want to find out.

The baby thestral looked at him as if he could actually understand and Harry pondered how he’d move him best. _Wingardium Leviosa_? _Nah_ … with that, you had to focus all the time, otherwise the floating object – or thestral, in this case – would fall back to the floor. _Mobilicorpus_ maybe?

He pulled his wand and pointed it at the foal. “ _Mobilicorpus!_ ” The foal was pulled up by his hooves, hanging upside-down in the air, and gave a terrified shriek, thin legs flailing wildly. Hastily, Harry let it down again and tried to calm him down by stroking him and making cooing sounds. “I won’t do it again,” Harry promised.

“We should get out of here,” Cedric said, getting up and looking around nervously. “I don’t have a good feeling about this.”

“You’re right,” Harry agreed, “I assume the spider’s family is not too far; their nest is quite near, after all. Anyway, can you conjure a stretcher?”

“Why, yes,” Cedric said, still frowning and conjured a stretcher with a murmured spell and a swift move of his wand – he was really good at Transfiguration, obviously, Harry thought. Carefully, he lifted the foal from the ground – he was surprisingly light; and tried to lay him onto the stretcher, but the foal screeched and scrambled and Harry hastily took it in his arms again.

“My, aren’t you difficult,” he murmured, stroking the foal’s scales to calm him down again. “I’ll carry you, then.”

The thestral nuzzled his head against Harry’s shoulder, the scales cool and dry on his skin, and whimpered quietly. “I’ll help you,” Harry whispered, “don’t worry, don’t worry… I’ll get help.” He hummed a tuneless melody and crossed the clearing to get to the edge of the forest.

“Are we leaving, then?” Cedric asked. He had picked up Harry’s bag and cloak and slung them over his shoulder. All the time, he kept looking at Harry oddly – and Harry didn’t like that look at all.

“Yeah,” he said, wondering for a moment whether they should take the older thestral with them, too, but no, it had told him to leave it here, so… “Yeah, let’s get back to the castle.”

While the foal didn’t weigh much – but then again, he was only little more than skin and bones – Harry had to be careful not to hurt him any further; so he had to take care with his steps so he wouldn’t stumble over roots or hurt the foal when twigs came slashing at him. His breath became heavier with time; his left arm felt strangely weak and paralysed and his steps got shorter. Panting, he stood still for a second, but the foal gave a shriek, which made him stumble forward again.

“Are you alright?” he heard Cedric’s voice, but it sounded like from very far away. “Harry? Harry!” Someone supported him from behind and Harry clutched the foal tighter and kept stumbling forward.

Everything was blurring before his eyes and he felt incredibly dizzy, the floor rocking beneath his feet and the world tumbling around him.

Still, he kept stumbling, but a few times he almost fell and only the foal’s shrill sounds made him catch his balance again – he wasn’t too far from the edge of the forest, that much he knew – it was not like he could really see anything anymore, the trees were nothing but blurred shapes surrounding him; but there was more light now, which meant that the forest must end soon.

And then he stepped into the light – was he still walking or crawling on the floor? Something – or someone – made a sound of pain and he heard someone calling his name; and then he was on the ground – it must be the ground, for he couldn’t move any further, and a huge, bearded face floated above him. “Don’t hurt him,” a voice said which sounded like a distorted version of his own, “don’t hurt him, don’t hurt him.”

“I won’t,” the face promised and the baby thestral was taken from his arms so gently Harry almost didn’t realize it; and then he kept falling although he was on the ground already.

 

xXx

 

“Well, well, Mr. Potter. You did not keep your promise, it seems.”

Harry groaned and blinked owlishly into the light that surrounded him. Everything was blurry still, but that was because his glasses were missing – without even looking, he grabbed to the nightstand next to him – Madam Pomfrey always placed them in the centre of his nightstand so he could find them easily when he was groping about.

He hissed with pain when his fingers closed around the metal rims of his glasses – flexing his fingers _hurt_. “Be careful when you use your arm,” Madam Pomfrey warned and took his glasses from him to put them onto his nose. “Welcome back from the dead, Mr. Potter.”

“Good afternoon, Madam Pomfrey,” Harry mumbled – his throat was dry and raw and speaking hurt.

“At least you haven’t lost your manners,” Madam Pomfrey remarked. “You have been out for three days – I expected you not to wake up for at least five days, but as ever you continue to surprise me.”

“What happened?” Harry asked.

“Not a loss of memory, I hope?” she asked and Harry shook his head.

“No, I remember about the acromantulae… and the thestrals.”

“Ah, obviously,” Madam Pomfrey said. “You will be pleased to hear that I managed to save your left arm; the skin was etched away from your fingertips up to your shoulder. Still, you will not be able to use your left arm for at least one week. You were lucky Mr. Diggory brought you here just in time, your heart was beating very slowly from the poison already. A few more minutes and you might have died – if you hadn’t died from the blood loss from your skin being etched away. Nasty thing, acromantula venom.”

“But I thought the pincers had to break your skin to have any effect,” Harry said – he was quite well informed about acromantulae since their second year.

“Surely you know about their secondary venom glands?” Madam Pomfrey asked, but Harry shook his head – he had not been that interested in their anatomy. “Ah, I see. Well, their primary venom glands produce the common toxic which will paralyse their victims as soon as it enters the blood, but the venom from their secondary glands is made to etch away scales – it does work on skin, too, as you now know.”

For the first time, Harry lifted the blanket and peeked at his left arm – it was completely wrapped in bandages, but his fingertips were peeking out. Oddly, they were red, with black marks on them, like coal smouldering.

“Your skin is renewing itself,” Madam Pomfrey explained, “or, rather, the potions I put onto the charred flesh. Professor Snape was not pleased _at all_.”

Harry snorted – hardly a surprise there. “Is there anything else?”

“Ah yes, your right hand,” Madam Pomfrey continued. “A thestral bit you, did it not?” Harry looked down on his right hand – surprised to see a white imprint of the older thestral’s teeth– on both sides of his wrist.

“What’s _that_?” he murmured, touching the mark with the fingertips of his left.

“The scar will not fade,” Madam Pomfrey said, “none of the pastes or essences I tried worked – but I don’t see how they could have worked, when there has never a report of someone surviving a thestral’s bite.”

“They’re not poisonous, are they?” Harry asked, turning his hand before his face. The imprint was not very large, quite faint and not very noticeable, per se.

“They are not,” Madam Pomfrey confirmed, “and there have only been very few reports about them biting humans. But whenever they hunt an animal and they bite it, the animal dies. Not from poison, however, it is said that… well, some of the older books say death itself is in their bite.”

Unwillingly, Harry shuddered. “But surely this is a load of bullshit?”

“ _Language_ , Mr. Potter,” Madam Pomfrey said, “I _know_ how it sounds, but… well, I only know the facts. And fact is that one’s heart stops beating when one is bitten by a thestral.”

 _Great_ , Harry thought, yet another thing that made him different. It wasn’t like he wanted to die, mind you, but couldn’t he once have normal stuff happening to him? Another person might fall from a broom and break their leg; or they fell down the stairs and broke their wrist; but no, Harry had to have the skin on his arm etched away by acromantula venom and had to survive a supposedly deadly thestral bite with an odd scar on his wrist as a token.

“Well, yes, but I survived, so there’s no need to explore that any further,” he said loudly. “What about the thestral baby, anyway?”

“Oh, Hagrid took him in and called a Healer for Magical Creatures, so it is cared for. That leads me to my next question: What were you _doing_ in the Forbidden Forest?”

“Well, I heard him screaming – or maybe the mother, I guess. They were fighting acromantulae.”

“You know thestrals are silent, right?” Madam Pomfrey asked, frowning and reaching out to touch his forehead.

“I always thought so, yes,” Harry said, “still, I heard them. Why is that kind of stuff always happening to _me_?”

“Why, Mr. Potter, if I knew, you’d not be lying here,” Madam Pomfrey said. “But you should eat something now and then sleep again – after all, sleep is the best medicine of all. When you wake up again, your friends may visit you.”

 

xXx

 

“It’s _fine_ , Cedric,” Harry said, for probably the twentieth time in the last fifteen minutes. “You don’t have to apologize, really.”

“But it’s my fault,” Cedric said miserably, staring at Harry’s arm, still wrapped in bandages. “I never should have let you go. I should have held you back.”

Harry snorted. “Not like you could hold me back.”

“I should’ve stunned you then,” Cedric said stubbornly.

“I would most certainly not be talking to you now if you had actually stunned me,” Harry said harshly. “Shut up about it, I’m fine. My arm is healing and the thestral foal is fine, too, I hear, so there is no further need to discuss.”

“But your arm,” Cedric insisted, “I still can’t believe that all the skin was _etched_ away; I know a bit about healing, I should have tried to heal you right there. All of this is my fault.”

“It’s not,” Harry said, more than a bit annoyed. “Cedric, would you please shut up about it? I didn’t accuse you of anything, did I?”

“But you _are_ mad at me,” Cedric said.

“Yes, because you won’t _shut up_!” Harry groaned – dealing with Cedric was _hard_. “Please, Cedric, just leave it alone. And I’m very exhausted now, so if you’d please let me sleep…”

“Of course, of course,” Cedric said, getting up hastily – he hesitated for a second, checking no one was near, and then gave him the slightest peck on the cheek. “Sleep well, Harry. And get well soon.”

“Yeah, see you,” Harry said, slumping back onto the bed. He was not tired at all – well, not _very_ tired at least, but he knew that it had been the only way to get rid of Cedric.

“Ah, the woes of love,” Madam Pomfrey said, who was just stepping out of her office, and winked at him.

“Madam Pomfrey!” Harry said, “this… you didn’t _listen_ , did you?”

“I only heard you saying you were exhausted – I know you well enough to know that it was a lie,” she said with a smile. “You would never admit that aloud.” Without a word, she presented him with several potions and Harry obediently took all of them. As he had expected, they tasted gross. “Professor Dumbledore wishes to speak with you.”

“Fine,” Harry said, a bit sullen – he didn’t feel like talking to the Headmaster at all, but it was not like he could refuse, could he?

Dumbledore didn’t stay long anyway; he swept in with a swirl of his colourful robes, expressed his joy about Harry making it out alive; and warned him very keenly about the Forbidden Forest. “This might have gone well, Harry,” he said, an unusually serious expression on his normally kind face, “but remember: Voldemort is out for you.”

“I _know_ ,” Harry said – and this time, he did actually know for sure; but he was miffed at Dumbledore and he surely wouldn’t tell him about Flint now. Really, did Dumbledore think he was a stupid child?

Dumbledore sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose. “Harry; please do not be angry with me; I’m doing my best to protect you, but as it is…”

“Well, you’ve not been very successful so far,” Harry huffed, rubbing his forehead gingerly with his right – his hand still felt a bit numb from whatever Madam Pomfrey might have smeared on it. “Letting acromantulae live next to a school? Really?”

“There is a reason the Forest is called the _Forbidden_ Forest,” Dumbledore replied, his voice unusually sharp. “I would ask you not go venture in there anymore, Harry.”

“Yes, Professor Dumbledore,” Harry said, a fake-meekness in his voice, drawling as Malfoy always did. He was being stupid and insolent, and he knew it, but he didn’t care right now.

“It seems you are quite exhausted now, Harry, why don’t you sleep for a while?” Dumbledore suggested with a certain coolness in his tone and rose. “I will leave you in Madam Pomfrey’s care now.”

As soon as he had left, Madam Pomfrey hurried up to him. “Really, what are you thinking, speaking to the Headmaster like that!” she scolded him, sounding appalled. “Mr. Potter, if I didn’t know you are still under the influence of several potions, I would be very inclined to give you detention right now!”

“Whatever,” Harry mumbled; he was already feeling better now that Dumbledore had left the room and his pounding headache had ceased a bit. “I’ll be a good boy, I promise.”

She clucked her tongue. “You have never been, Mr. Potter, no matter what you promised.” She sighed, obviously fighting with herself what she should say next. “Your friends are outside, should I let them in now?”

 

xXx

 

After Ron and Hermione had listened to his story with the thestral (Harry had modified the screams to suspicious sounds and not mentioned the voice in his head either) and they had both fretted about him for a while, the subject of their talk changed.

“But now about the really important stuff: Apart from the thestral business, how’d the date go?” Ron asked, grinning widely.

Hermione leaned over excitedly. “Yes, tell us, Harry.”

“Oh right, the date,” Harry said, having almost forgotten amidst all the chaos. “I dunno, it was… okay, I guess?”

“ _Okay?_ ” Ron asked, frowning.

“Well, I think I might have overwhelmed him a bit,” Harry admitted.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ron asked curiously.

“Well, he told me he thought I was sweet and stuff – which was kinda weird – but I thought he’d never get to the point so I asked him if he wanted to make out.”

“ _Harry!_ ” Hermione exclaimed, looking scandalized, whereas Ron broke into snickers. “Brilliant, mate!”

“Well, what was I supposed to think?” Harry defended himself. “ _He_ wanted to go for a walk _out of sight_ from Hogsmeade.”

Ron almost fell from his chair laughing and even Hermione was giggling by now. “And, did you?” Ron gasped, between fits of laughter. “Make out, I mean?”

“A bit,” Harry said, “first we kissed, but it was a bit boring, so I decided to step up the game, but he said he thought it was too early because apparently he’s been crushing on me since our Quidditch game last school year.”

Ron snickered. “Oh, Harry, you’re _hilarious_. Way to go, mate!”

“So, how did it end?” Hermione asked curiously. “Are you having another date?”

“I don’t know,” Harry sighed, “we kind of fought… well, not exactly, but he kept apologizing about my arm being hurt and insisted it was his fault. I, er, told him I was tired and he should leave because, honestly, it was quite annoying.”

“So…? Do you _want_ to have another date?”

“I have no idea,” Harry admitted, “he’s really… well, he’s really sweet and handsome and so on, but I dunno, he’s so nice it’s almost exhausting.”

“Only you!” Again, Ron started laughing. “You dump a guy because he’s _too_ nice?”

“Ron, don’t be like that,” Hermione said. “Harry, what do you think? I believe he’s very sweet and he seems to be quite serious about it, don’t you agree?”

“Well, maybe we’ll try again,” Harry said. “I mean, it _was_ kind of messed up, wasn’t it?”

“I’m sure next time will be better,” Hermione said with an encouraging smile. “He truly seems to care about you; and I think that would be really good for you after… after all you’ve gone through.”

“Yeah… yeah, maybe,” he said. Maybe it wouldn’t actually be so bad. Cedric certainly wasn’t mean (Harry was quite sure Cedric had never hurt anyone on purpose) and he certainly wouldn’t betray him like Flint had; but he was just a bit too… good. For a moment, Harry wondered idly what might happen at the Third Task – would Cedric let him win in an act of selflessness? And, frankly, he wasn’t half as exciting as Flint and he didn’t kiss half as well, but maybe it would get better. Hopefully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: About the thestrals… I already thought it was weird that Harry could only see them at the beginning of the fifth year and not at the end of the fourth; but when you look at it logically, he must have been able to see them after his first year because he saw Quirrell die. So I changed this bit from the books, so just assume he has been able to see thestrals after his first year and has read about them on his own. As I mentioned above, they will be more important later in the story.  
> Anyway, what did you think about this chapter?


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: None of this is mine; everything belongs to the great Joanne K. Rowling.
> 
> This chapter will be hard for the Cedric-haters, but salvation is not too far away, I promise!

_Dear Harry,_

_once again I would like to apologize for allowing you to get hurt. Yet I hope not all is lost between us and you will give me another chance. I would like to make up for your messed up Hogsmeade weekend. Do you have any plans for Friday night? If not, I would like to show you something special. Would it be alright with you if I picked you up on Friday at 8pm near the History classroom?_

_Love, Cedric_

Harry looked up from the table, his eyes searching Cedric at the Hufflepuff table – there he was, looking at him anxiously. Harry smiled and nodded; and Cedric smiled, too, looking relieved. Cedric had a really beautiful handwriting, he thought absent-mindedly, comparing the beautiful loops to his own crooked letters.

“What’s that?” Ron tried to ogle at the letter and Harry hastily stuffed it into his pocket.

“Cedric,” he mouthed at Ron.

“Aah,” Ron said. “Oh, that’s nice. That’s good.”

“What’s good?” Seamus asked, who was way too curious for Harry’s liking.

“The fact that I have neither potions nor detention today,” Harry said smoothly. “Could a day be any better?”

 

xXx

 

“How ye doin’, Harry?” Hagrid asked when Harry approached his hut. He had immediately spotted the baby thestral who was frolicking about on a meadow behind Hagrid’s hut. He had immediately spotted Harry, too, for he ran towards the fence, wings fluttering excitedly.

“I’m fine,” Harry said, jogging towards the baby thestral. He stroked his snout and neck and scratched his scales. The thestral gave small sounds of pleasure and nuzzled his head in Harry’s palm.

“He likes yeh,” Hagrid said, stepping next to him and patting his back – unusually careful though, as he had obviously seen the bandages on Harry’s arm. His skin was almost regrown, however, and he could use his arm almost normally again – not that Madam Pomfrey would allow that, but he did it anyway. “Most of ‘em are quite shy, but he’s taken a liking to yeh.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, “he likes me a lot, obviously. How’s the leg healing?”

“’S fine,” Hagrid said, “can’t heal it with human magic, but the healer put his leg in a splint and it’s healing good. He’s missing his mum, though… quite sad most o’ the time, till you came here.”

“Poor thing,” Harry said, scratching the thestral’s scales. “So… do thestrals make any sounds?” he asked as casually as possible; and the thestral snorted as if to say yes.

“Nah, ‘course not,” Hagrid said. “Thought you knew tha’. They’re silent; silent as death himself, it is said.”

The foal gave a small snort and tried to reach for Harry’s pocket, where he had stuffed in some meat from the kitchens. Harry pondered for a moment, but then he decided not to say anything about it – at least not until he had done his own research in the Library. He didn’t want to be crazy Potter again – well, it was only Hagrid, but Hagrid would worry about him and Harry hated it when people worried about him – the only thing he hated more were people pitying him.

He decided not to mention the thestrals anymore (except for giving the foal the name Hades, which was kind of lame, but he sucked at coming up with names (it was still better than Crookshanks or Pigwidgeon, that was for sure) and besides he assumed the foal did not care at all) and chatted with Hagrid about the Tournament and the dragons instead – dragons would always be Hagrid’s favourite topic, but now Harry could at least somewhat relate.

On his way back, he stumbled into – who else might it be – Flint, who, surprisingly, didn’t even try to touch him. “Thestrals, huh?” he asked only, staring at the thestral prancing about.

“Yeah,” Harry said. “You can see them?” There were only very few students who could see them, he had found out – none of his Gryffindor classmates could.

“Yes,” Flint said, his voice rough, “saw my mother die when I was very young.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry said, not knowing what else to say, and crossed his arms uncomfortably.

“’Twas a long time ago,” Flint said. “How’s your arm healing?”

“It’s okay,” Harry said, flexing the fingers on his left to prove it. “Madam Pomfrey is still flipping out, but it’s okay. Apparently I can take the bandages off soon.”

Flint frowned. “I thought you were severely hurt.”

“Well, I was, but it’s not a big deal anymore,” Harry said, looking back to the thestral, which stood at the fence now, completely still and staring at him with eerie, white eyes – alright, that was kind of weird.

Flint followed his glance. “Got yourself a new pet, huh?”

“Kind of,” Harry said.

“Like flying pets?”

“In fact, I wouldn’t mind a snake,” Harry admitted. The thought had been ghosting through his mind for quite some time now – he thought snakes were fascinating creatures. Ever since that incident with the Boa constrictor (and their short, idle chat) which had happened four years ago, he had wanted another conversation with a snake – preferably with one that was not trying to kill him. It would be awesome to be able to talk to his pet – probably it was kind of weird, but sometimes Harry really wished he could to talk to Hedwig – because he felt that at least she always understood him (as far as owls could understand human problems, anyway); but at least she was neither judging nor pitying him.

But somehow he had never gotten around to getting himself a snake – probably his friends (and everybody else he knew) would find it really weird. And frightening.

For some reason Flint, however, seemed to find that really funny for he laughed aloud – that dark laugh that Harry enjoyed, if unwillingly. “Who would have thought, Gryffindor’s Golden Boy wants a snake in his bed?” He leered and winked at Harry.

“I’m not Gryffindor’s _Golden Boy_ ,” Harry said sharply – he was anything but.

“You didn’t deny wanting a snake in your bed,” Flint drawled, grinning and showing off his crooked teeth. “Besides, still funny. Anyway, Potter, I’ve still got stuff to do, so I’m off.” Without another word, he strode off and Harry stared after his bulky figure. Only now he remembered that he was _still_ furious at Flint and that he was not supposed to have idle conversations with him.

“Flint!” Harry yelled and Flint turned again, squinting against the setting sun. “You’re still an asshole!” Harry shouted and gave him the finger, just to make sure Flint was not getting any wrong ideas – like Harry forgiving him and crawling into his bed again.

Flint just grinned, a bit lopsidedly. “I know, and you know you like it.” Then he turned and strode off again, unbothered.

_Well, fuck._

 

xXx

 

Harry was a bit late for his second date with Cedric – he had been held up trying to conciliate a fight between Ron and Ginny – as both had inherited their mother’s voice, this had proven quite difficult. He wasn’t even exactly sure what they had been fighting about (apparently, it had started with Ron borrowing one of Ginny’s quills and not giving it back), but he figured fighting for no particular reason was a sibling thing – not that he knew anything about that. It had taken his and Hermione’s united commitment to stop the fight and Harry had fled before he had to listen to Ron ranting about Ginny for hours – probably Neville would be on the suffering end of his tirade now.

So he jogged along the corridor to the History classroom, where he already saw Cedric waiting for him, leaning against the wall and staring at the floor. He immediately straightened, however, as soon as he heard Harry approaching.

“I’m glad you came,” he said with a smile and Harry couldn’t help but think that Cedric was really good-looking; what with his cute dimples and perfect white teeth and his to-die-for cheekbones. He wore a dark red jumper that fit him really nicely and was just so tight that Harry didn’t need that much fantasy to imagine what he looked like underneath.

“You look good tonight,” Harry said and wondered whether Cedric expected him to hug him? Or give him a peck on the cheek?

“Oh thank you,” Cedric said, blushing – he seemed to expect neither as he started walking. “Come with me, I would like to show you something.”

“Alright,” Harry said curiously, following Cedric through several corridors he wasn’t really familiar with, but he was pretty sure where they led. “Are you taking me to your Common Room? It’s along that hall to the left, isn’t it?”

“How do you know?” Cedric asked, obviously surprised.

Harry grinned. “Gryffindors, remember? We’re famous for curiosity.” And indeed he and Ron had spent some idle afternoons roaming through the castle, trying to find the other Common Rooms (well, they _knew_ where the Slytherin Common Room was, of course) and other interesting places of which there were plenty in the castle. Hermione was ignorant of this, of course, she surely wouldn’t have approved of them spending their time “looking for trouble”, as she liked to call their escapades, when they should be studying instead.

“Right,” Cedric said with a smile and led him down a narrow, dimly lit corridor next to the entrance of the Hufflepuff Common Room. He opened a small door with a key he dug from his pocket and gestured for Harry to come in. “Welcome to the Badger’s Burrow,” he said with a nervous smile.

Harry stood in a small, cosy, perfectly round room, furnished with comfortable looking sofas and chintzy chairs grouped around a table where snacks and drinks were set; there were shelves stuffed with books along the wall, a thick, soft carpet and a huge fireplace where a fire was cackling. The amount of yellow hurt Harry’s eyes a bit, but overall it looked quite comfortable.

“It looks very nice,” Harry said. “What is it used for?”

“Oh, it’s a study room for those who are preparing for their exams and need some quiet,” Cedric explained. “You have to book the room and then you have to ask a prefect for the key – well, I am prefect so that was no problem. Anyway, sometimes this room is used by couples, too, who want to spend some alone time – um, I mean… it’s not like I want to insinuate anything of that kind… I mean, it’s not like I wouldn’t want to, but I…”

“It’s fine,” Harry said, slightly unnerved.

“Well, I just wanted to spend a nice, quiet evening with you, without being disturbed by others… and thestrals and things, so… would you like something to drink?”

“A butterbeer would be nice,” Harry said and sat down on the couch. Cedric hastily poured one butterbeer for Harry and one for himself before settling down next to Harry, careful they didn’t touch.

Harry inwardly rolled his eyes, Cedric was _really_ careful. “So, how are you?” Cedric asked. “How is your arm healing?”

“It’s healing nicely,” Harry answered and rolled up his sleeve – his skin was smooth again and still slightly pink as it was still in the final stages of healing.

Cedric made a face. “Does it hurt?”

“It doesn’t,” Harry assured him, poking his forearm for proof. The skin was still a bit sensitive, but Cedric really didn’t need to know that. “And don’t you apologize again,” he added sharper than he had intended to.

Cedric cleared his throat. “What about the thestral?”

“He’s fine. Hagrid is looking after him and I already visited him – I named him Hades, by the way – thrice that week and he’s super cute; he seems to like me a lot.”

“Ah,” Cedric said. “That’s… er, nice.” He looked slightly confused and a bit weirded out, so Harry decided not to tell Cedric that he would like a snake as a pet – probably he wouldn’t find it funny, like Flint had. “So, um, I know it’s a bit sensitive, but I have been wondering whom… I mean, why can you see thestrals? Do you actually remember… your parents?”

“No,” Harry said hoarsely. “Not my parents. Quirrell.” He looked down on his hands – they were perfectly normal hands; tanned, callused from flying and years of yard work, and scarred from that one time Dudley had shoved him into a pile of shards – but they were normal hands. And yet, he had burned Quirrell with his own hands; burned him to death. And in his darkest dreams, he remembered what it had been like – Quirrell’s face crumbling away under his hands, his eyes wide with terror, his mouth opened in a gargled scream; but the pictures were mostly blurred; but the smell, the smell was so clear, never would he forget that horrid smell of burning flesh.

“I thought he died in an accident,” Cedric said uncertainly. “I mean, of course, you don’t want to talk about it, do you? Surely it was a traumatic experience.”

 _No_ , Harry thought, _it was not an accident. I killed him, with my bare hands._ It had been necessary, but… He curled his hands into fists. “It doesn’t matter, does it?” he said harshly. “He’s dead, after all.”

Cedric looked horrified. “I’m so sorry, Harry, I never meant… I never meant to raise the subject, I… well…”

“Would you _please_ stop apologizing all the time?” Harry asked sharply. “I am hardly able to have a normal conversation with you without you apologizing all the time, and it’s getting on my nerves.”

Cedric opened his mouth – probably to apologize, but then he shut it again. “Well”, he said, his voice rough, “let’s talk about something different then. What are your plans for the Christmas holidays?”

They chatted idly for a while, and Cedric told funny stories of Christmases in his childhood. Harry laughed and smiled and switched from butterbeer to wine, which Cedric had provided with a blush – so it seemed Hufflepuffs were not _that_ innocent. The wine warmed him from the inside, blurred his sight and made him feel a bit fuzzy. Cedric also seemed to become less stiff and overly-careful with the wine, but he blushed fiercely when Harry skidded over to him, closing the distance between them, and slipped so close Cedric’s arm was draped over his shoulder now.

“You don’t mind, do you?” he asked, blinking at Cedric innocently.

“I don’t,” he said, his voice soft and low. “Not at all.” And, surprisingly, it was him who initiated their kiss this time. It was a soft and lazy kiss, and Harry sighed contently, wrapping his arms around Cedric’s neck and slipping onto his lap. This time, Cedric didn’t seem to mind, as he pulled Harry onto his lap, his hands settling on Harry’s waist hesitantly.

Harry didn’t exactly know how it happened, but suddenly his shirt was unbuttoned and Cedric’s jumper was gone so Harry could admire his torso. He was lean and well-trained though he was not half as bulky as Flint whose body seemed to consist of nothing but steely muscle mass. As their kiss deepened, Cedric moaned, his face flushed, and with a grin, Harry unzipped his pants and pulled off his boxers with one smooth movement.

Cedric gasped, and without further ado, Harry slipped down on the ground, kneeling, and took his cock in his mouth – which was a lot easier than it had been with Flint’s. He didn’t want to be a bitch and compare the cocks he had already had, but there was no doubt that, while Cedric was by no means small, Flint was considerably… larger. It was not a bad thing, though, as Cedric was definitely a lot easier to suck off, Harry thought, pressing his hands against Cedric’s trembling thighs to keep himself up.

And unfortunately he couldn’t deny it, but his body ached for Flint, ached for his dark moans, for his rough, husky voice, for his hungry, yet skilled hands, for his hot, greedy mouth, and most of all, for his dark, dark want that made Harry feel so inebriated, for the lack of a better word. But there was no way he’d touch Flint ever again – or let himself be touched – so all he got was Cedric, and he had to make the best of it.

Cedric didn’t take very long, and with a moan, he came into Harry’s mouth – he was a bit better prepared this time, so he managed to swallow most of it without even coughing. He pulled himself up and settled in Cedric’s lap – Cedric had slumped back, his face deeply flushed and his eyes shut. He was breathing heavily, but after a few seconds he opened his eyes and looked at Harry, his expression an odd mixture of post-orgasmic bliss and his ever-present worry.

“Harry,” he said, his voice still raw, “I… I never meant for this to happen, but…”

“You didn’t like it?” Harry asked and pulled a face while snickering on the inside – he was being nasty and he knew it, but playing with Cedric was just too much fun – alright, he should really stop with that, he told himself, but Cedric really needed to loosen up a bit.

Cedric’s face got even redder, if that was possible. “No, Merlin, Harry, I didn’t mean it like that – it was brilliant, really. I enjoyed it really much. But… but I think it’s still too early for that kind of thing, don’t you agree? This is only our second date, after all.”

He might have a point there, Harry had to admit, after all he had only sucked Flint’s cock on their second _non_ -date – that Flint had already wanted to fuck him then was a totally different matter. Harry _knew_ that most relationships didn’t proceed that fast, but everything was messed up anyway because of Flint and Harry didn’t even know if he wanted to be in a relationship with Cedric – more like trying to convince himself to have a relationship with Cedric because of their sexual escapades, if that made any sense. Besides, if he _wanted_ to be with Cedric, he shouldn’t try to make Cedric blush and stutter all the time, should he?

Problem was, it was way too easy – and there he went again. _No more mocking Cedric_ , he told himself firmly, he wanted to give Cedric a chance. So he only said, “I’m sorry,” and wanted to stand up, but Cedric held him back.

“You don’t have to apologize,” Cedric said quietly. His face had gotten very serious and he stared at Harry with his beautiful grey eyes. “You don’t have to apologize for anything. I just don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want you to do anything that you don’t want to do or that you don’t feel ready for. You are very important to me, Harry, and I don’t want to do anything wrong.”

He was just too good to be true, Harry thought, but he couldn’t say the same things back to Cedric without lying – well, he _did_ like Cedric, but currently it was no more than that – not like _like_. So he said nothing and kissed Cedric instead, a slow, deep kiss that made him moan. And then Cedric’s hands were on his hips, and stroking along his thighs, and then his hand was in Harry’s pants, and then Harry lay on the sofa, Cedric kneeling between his thighs and looking at him questioningly.

Harry nodded, and Cedric opened his pants and pulled down his boxers and then he looked at Harry again, and Harry nodded again, and Cedric bent down and gave the tip of his cock a hesitating kiss. Harry moved his hips impatiently and whispered: “It’s fine, you can go on.” And only then Cedric took his cock into his mouth, licking and sucking and rubbing and stroking the insides of his thighs. It felt good, and Harry moaned, but in no way it felt as amazing when Flint had done it; there was none of that wild hunger, none of that dark lust – and while it was definitely nice, Harry felt that something was missing.

When they lay on the couch afterwards – Cedric, who was apparently really gifted at conjuring things, had conjured a soft, warm blanket – Harry felt tired, but it was not the same state of deep exhaustion and satisfaction he had felt after the sex with Flint.

Nevertheless, he yawned and closed his eyes. There was a faint pain in his scar and he felt a bit dizzy. “Wake me, if I doze off,” he murmured.

“I will,” Cedric said softly. He had wrapped one arm around Harry, stroking his shoulder lightly. With a sigh, Harry closed his eyes.

 

xXx

 

_Today is a good day. The sky is dark by now, and Wormtail has managed to spend a whole day without failures – which is a good sign indeed. He is waiting impatiently for the arrival of his loyal follower._

_“He has arrived,” Nagini hisses, her tongue flickering. He nods to Wormtail who scurries off and returns with his follower, who kneels and kisses the ring on his hand. Unlike Wormtail, he has manners_ and _knows his place._

_“My Lord,” he murmurs and gets back to his feet._

_“Do you have news for me?” he asks._

_“Everything is going according to plan,” his Death Eater says. “The boy has been successful so far. He is proving his worth. There is still enough time until the Second Task.”_

_“What will the Task be?” he asks – he only follows the tournament with mild interest; Wormtail sums up the most important news from the Daily Prophet for him as reading the babblings of Muggle-loving fools is below him. He does not truly care about the details of the Tournament; the important thing, the_ only _thing that matters is the outcome._

_“They will have to dive into the Hogwarts Lake to get someone back they hold dear.”_

_He throws his head back and laughs – it is a feeble, gargling sound and he hates it, as he hates everything about his body. His follower joins in, and Wormtail does, too, after a few seconds of hesitation, though they cannot know the source of his amusement._

_Soon enough, everything and everyone Potter holds dear will be dust and ashes, and Potter will be dead._

 

xXx

 

Harry awoke laughing. His scar burned and he couldn’t remember why – he had dreamed of a starless sky, of an unlit house and of cold laughter.

“Harry?” a voice asked and he realized that he lay in Cedric’s arms, on the cosy couch underneath a warm blanket, Cedric staring at him, his face confused and worried.

He shut his mouth and stopped laughing, rubbing his scar. The pain was already fading, but when he looked at his hand, there were a few drops of blood trickling down his fingers.

“Are you _alright?_ ” Cedric asked, face scrunched up with worry. “I couldn’t wake you – and I yelled your name and I shook you – and then you started _laughing_.” He looked rather creeped out at that.

“I dreamed,” Harry said, his throat raw. “I dreamed of darkness.” He shivered and while he couldn’t remember what he had dreamed about, he felt like he _should_ remember; like he had seen or heard something in his dream that he _should_ know. The feeling itched and Harry shook his head, but the nagging feeling didn’t go away.

“Do you mean… you dreamed of You-Know-Who?” Cedric whispered, his eyes wide with fear.

Harry shrugged. “I dunno, I guess. I can’t remember.” Again, he shook his head as if he could chase the feeling away like a buzzing insect, but he couldn’t.

“Do you need… well, help?” Cedric asked. “Should I get Madam Pomfrey? A teacher? The Headmaster?”

“No,” Harry said sharply, “I’m fine, okay? What would I tell Dumbledore? That I think I had a dream about Voldemort, but can’t remember anything?” He suddenly felt a slight resentment against Dumbledore, who really should have cared more about him this year, and he wanted to see the Headmaster even less.

Cedric flinched at the name. “But don’t you think you should tell someone?”

“What would I tell?” Harry asked, rubbing his forehead. His head still hurt a bit, but not too much – what was worse was the fact that his _mind_ seemed to hurt. “I can’t remember anything but a dark house and _his_ laughter.”

Cedric looked at him, unconvinced and frowning. “As you will,” he said. “I don’t approve of it, but who am I to tell you what to do?”

 _Oh, emotional manipulation_ , Harry thought slightly impressed; so maybe Cedric wasn’t that naïve after all. “Don’t worry about me,” he said softly, “I’m getting along fine. But I think I oughtta leave anyway, it’s quite late, isn’t it?” He glanced at Cedric’s expensive looking watch – oh, two hours after curfew, lovely.

“I’ll walk you,” Cedric said while both of them dressed again.

Harry frowned at him. “I don’t need anyone to protect me,” he said, slightly unnerved. His scar _itched_ now and it made him cranky. “I have been perfectly able to roam this castle after curfew since first year.”

Cedric sighed. “Harry… I don’t mean it that way and you _know_ that. I want to walk you because I enjoy spending time with you.”

Harry huffed. “Whatever, c’mon then.”  He was cold and tired and generally irritated – he didn’t know why, though. Was it because of the bloody dream, because Voldemort could just never leave him alone? Was it because his head still hurt; a dull, throbbing pain? Was it because Cedric was being exhausting and overly gentle again? Was it because his life was a bloody mess right now?

Must be all of it, he decided, his hands stuffed into his pockets and marching on briskly. Cedric walked next to him, his fingertips touching Harry’s wrist, but Harry didn’t feel like holding hands at all. He didn’t react to the touch and with a soft sigh, Cedric dropped his hand again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Please review and let me know what you think about this chapter! The next chapter will have a bit more thestral stuff, so stay tuned!


	12. Chapter 12

“This time _I_ would like to apologize,” Harry said. He stood with Cedric in a corridor practically no one ever used (as Peeves supposedly had his room here (did ghosts even need rooms?)), holding Cedric’s hands and leaning against him. He felt exhausted and on the edge for reasons he didn’t know, since everything was going well, wasn’t it? He had had no detentions at all this week, Ron and Hermione had gotten along fine the last days, his headache was only a dull throb that plagued him mostly in the early evenings and Cedric was being sweet and forgiving and had written him yet another letter that made Harry feel slightly sappy although he was actually not the type for that.

The only thing that irked him was Flint watching him – it was just like back in November, when Flint had stared at him all the time; and just like back then, it unnerved him. When he ate in the Great Hall, he could feel Flint’s stare burning on his neck (he was not so mad as to sit on the other side of the Gryffindor table so he would have to face him); he had seen a dark, burly figure on top of the North Tower when he went flying in the evening and sometimes he almost thought Flint _knew_ where he was – which was stupid of course, as the Marauder’s Map was still in his possession.

Cedric opened his mouth as if to say something, but Harry grabbed his collar with his right and placed his left over his mouth. “It’s my turn now,” he said, smiling to take the sharpness from his words and removing his hand from Cedric’s mouth again. “I wanted to apologize for the way I behaved last Friday… it was such a sweet idea, and it was a really nice date, but I felt really tired and cranky, though I don’t know why. Still, that’s not a reason to take it out on you.”

“It’s fine,” Cedric assured him with a smile.

“It’s not!” Harry said loudly – he wanted to grab and shake Cedric – and yet again, there was resentment nagging on his nerves, but he didn’t want to get mad at Cedric again – he feared it was a circle he might never get out of. “The way I behaved was… well, I’m normally not like that,” he finished somewhat lamely.

“I know,” Cedric said. “Please, Harry, there is nothing to worry about. It’s perfectly fine if you are tired, and if you don’t want to –”

 _Enough talking_ , Harry thought and simply grabbed Cedric’s collar with both hands now, pulling him in for a kiss to shut him up. Cedric was cute, really, but he talked way too much. Kissing was much better. Cedric’s kisses were always warm and soft and tender, and although Harry felt that a certain spark was missing, they were still quite enjoyable.

Soon enough, their kiss deepened and Cedric wrapped his arms around Harry’s waist to pull him closer, and then Harry managed to undo the knot in Cedric’s tie, and then Cedric’s hand snuck underneath his sweater, and then Harry began to unbutton his shirt; and together they stumbled into a classroom that was luckily not occupied by Peeves.

 

xXx

 

When Harry sat in the library, rubbing his exhausted eyes, he remembered why Ron and he normally left the research stuff to Hermione: She was simply better at it. But he could hardly ask her to find out why he could hear thestrals when they were supposedly silent.

He had already gone through all books on thestrals (not that there were many) and had only found out that they grew very fast (which was true as Hades’ shoulder was almost of a height with his own now when it had been at the height of his elbow the week before, and he had become a lot less playful now – though he still enjoyed being caressed by Harry) and that they only started flying when they were fully grown – which must be soon enough, he supposed.

For days he had pondered whom of the teachers he might ask for a pass to the Restricted Section – in the end, he had decided for Moody, despite not liking him, as he always told them they knew nothing of the “real world” – well, if the “real world” was to be found somewhere, it was in the Restricted Section surely. Moody had stared at him with both eyes for the longest time while Harry had explained why he needed the pass for “further research” for their essay on Duelling Spells, and had finally signed the pass with a flourish that seemed somehow not typical of him. “Glad you finally decided to have a look at the other side,” he had growled. “Gotta know what you’re fighting; about time you come out of your eggshell.”

The Restricted Section had not proven to be more helpful, though – besides, many books here didn’t even have titles, how the hell was he supposed to know which ones he should read? So he just picked books from the shelves at random, hoping his infamous luck-that-was-only-for-famous-people, as Ron claimed, would help him now.

He was just leafing through a book on old war curses (most of which were frankly disturbing) when someone stepped next to him. “Interested in Dark Magic, eh?”

Harry groaned and shut the book, burying his face in his hands. “Fuck off, Flint.”

However, he heard how Flint pulled up a chair and sat next to him. “You looking for something specific?”

“Are you deaf? I said, fuck off.”

“Such dirty words from such a pretty mouth,” Flint drawled.

“If you don’t get lost now, I’ll give you a lot more dirty words,” Harry hissed at him.

Flint laughed and placed his hand on Harry’s forearm, leaning in closer. “I’d love to hear them,” he whispered, his voice so deep and low it made Harry shiver. And then he grabbed Harry’s chin, pulling him in closer, and pressing Harry’s lips on his own. Harry tried to wriggle out of his grip, but before he knew what was happening, Flint kissed him – and oh, how he had missed those hungry kisses, how he had missed Flint’s hot mouth; the strong hands that held him in place; his dark, alluring scent…

Harry moaned, and then Flint’s hand was on his waist, ripping his shirt out of his pants; and his fingers were so hot and greedy on Harry’s skin –

And suddenly, Harry gathered his wits again and freed himself from Flint’s grip and jerking back. His lips _burned_ from the kiss and he was breathing heavily and with a huff, he tucked his shirt back in again. “I told you there is _nothing_ between us anymore,” he said sharply.

“Didn’t feel like it,” Flint drawled, placing his thumb on Harry’s slightly swollen lips, but he jerked his head back. He knew he would give in if he stayed here only one second longer.

“As you’re not leaving, I am,” he said, his voice a bit hoarse, and began stuffing his things back into his bag.

“Potter,” Flint said, sounding slightly exasperated, “can’t we just get over it?”

“I cannot,” Harry said, struggling with his bag as it was way too full, “how am I supposed to ever trust you?” Besides it was not like he was in an official relationship with Cedric, but still it felt _wrong_ – like he was cheating though he wasn’t – to kiss another man – or be kissed, rather.

“Another apology is not enough, I guess?” Flint asked drily; after a few seconds, he added: “Though I could think of other ways of making it up to you…”

Harry couldn’t prevent that he felt his nerves tingle – he could think of other ways, too. But he wouldn’t crawl into Flint’s bed again – Harry could have forgiven him easily for the Tournament (in fact, he already had), but the fact that Flint hadn’t told him, had used him like that; that was not to be redeemed by sex, no matter how great it might be. Flint was a liar, and an arsehole and he apparently knew a lot about Dark Magic, and he had used Harry for his own measures – nothing good could ever come out of that.

So he just shook his head silently and slung his bag over his shoulder. “Potter,” Flint said – was Harry seeing things or did he look a little desperate? – “can’t you… never mind. What were you looking for? I’ll help you.”

Harry hesitated – Flint probably could actually help him, and it was not like thestrals were a very… _suspicious_ subject to read about. “Thestrals,” he said curtly.

Flint nodded, got up and quickly picked three different books from a shelf – all of them without a title, Harry noted. He gathered them in his arms as there was no way they would fit into his bag and stalked off, pointedly not saying thank you or looking back; but still he could feel Flint’s eyes burn into his neck.

He settled down in an empty classroom, locking the door so he would not be bothered. One book was only about the gruesome potions one could brew with thestral body parts and Harry felt a bit sick after putting it away; the second one claimed by killing a thestral you could become immortal (which Harry doubted very much) and the third one finally held some useful information.

_They carry death on their wings, and, while seemingly easily tamed by humans, one should keep in mind that they can kill easily with just one bite. Generally, they do not care about humans, but they have been known to single out humans who killed another human, or who have been very close to death. Silent as death they are, the old legends – and current books – say; however, there have been whispered rumours about thestrals calling for humans; about thestrals telling humans the time and the way of their death._

Then the book went on about how thestrals could cross the veil between the world of the living and the world of the dead; and Harry decided that stuff became too crazy there. Still, the short paragraph unsettled him: Would Hades know the time of his death, too? Harry decided not to think about that – good news was, he had apparently not gone over the bend and supposedly there were other people who could hear thestrals – still, he didn’t plan on telling anyone. Ron and Hermione would _freak out_.

He sat on the floor for a while, pondering about the thestral; then he decided to do the Gryffindor approach: It was getting dark anyway and the snow was almost two foot high by now, so no one would be outside anymore. He threw on his invisibility cloak, brought the books back to the Library and snuck out to visit Hades. He stood on his meadow, still as if made of stone, but he turned his head when Harry approached.

“Hello,” Harry whispered, feeling odd – he had never really thought about it before, but now he wondered what the thestral thought – did they actually _think_? “Do… do you understand me?” he asked, feeling stupid – like Hades could even answer.

The thestral stared at him with its unsettling white eyes, then he bowed his slender neck and his snout touched Harry’s wrist where the elder thestral had bitten him. “Er… do you have to bite me?” Harry asked, getting more and more unnerved.

The thestral remained perfectly still and, hesitating a bit, Harry rolled up his sleeve. He _knew_ this was not a good idea, but as ever, his curiosity won over reason and he stuck out his arm. Hades snorted and sunk his teeth into Harry’s wrist – Harry screamed, it hurt even more than last time and again, the pain was in his head, like a knife cutting into his _mind_. _You are brave_ , a voice whispered, rougher and stronger than the elder thestral’s voice.

Harry shivered. _Who are you?_ , he thought, feeling weird, talking in his mind, _do you have a name?_

 _You may call me as you wish, but names matter to humans only_ , he replied softly. _Fly with me tonight._

His wrist was still bleeding, just a few drops of blood trickling down his forearm, but it didn’t hurt very much, but his head felt like being split by an axe. Hades licked his blood from the wound and touched his wrist again; this time not biting, but still, Harry could hear the voice in his mind. _The pain will lessen soon; and the next time it will be less painful. Fly with me._

Harry hesitated – he was cold and tired and felt a bit light-headed; and he was sure a flight would not improve that state; but then again he was a Gryffindor and he was curious – he would be able to fly with a thestral, how cool was that?

So he nodded and climbed onto the thestral’s back somewhat awkwardly as he still couldn’t fully use his left arm – and before he had even settled down, Hades _took off_ – and it was _nothing_ like flying on a broom.

He flew considerably faster than Harry had ever thought possible – even faster than his Firebolt, but he _was_ a magical being – and higher than Harry had ever risen – so high it felt like he could touch the moon if only he reached out.

The air was incredibly cold up here and an icy wind pulled on his clothes and on his hair; but he could feel wiry muscles ripple underneath his thighs and strong wings beating steadily. He laughed with joy, the wind ripping the laughter from his lips; but that didn’t matter; he felt _free_ , free as he had never felt before.

That was what freedom was – flying as high and fast as you wanted to; stars blurring above and the earth blurring beneath; and fly still faster and faster until nothing mattered but the rush of speed.

He hugged Hades’ neck, his scales warm compared to the icy air, and he touched the thestral’s snout. _This is wonderful_ , he thought, _the most wonderful thing. How high can you fly?_

 _I can fly as high as I wish_ , was the answer, _but you will pass out from lack of oxygen._

 _Can you fly higher?_ Harry asked nevertheless; and up they soared until even the clouds seemed incredibly far beneath them. That high up, the air was noticeably thinner and Harry felt very lightheaded now. The wind was like a hammer of ice on his face now, and he couldn’t feel his fingers anymore.

 _Where are we now?_ Harry asked.

 _You call it France._ Again, Harry laughed although his lips were frozen; this was _madness_. And he loved it. He had never known thestrals could fly that fast – none of the books had ever mentioned it. _Can we go to the Eiffel Tower?,_ he asked; and wordlessly, Hades went into a curve and a steep dive that made Harry whoop.

And there it was, after only a few minutes, a city he assumed to be Paris, spread beneath him; a thousand lights like a glittering carpet. There were only few moving lights from the traffic, so Harry assumed it must be very late in the night. And there, directly beneath them, an incredibly huge metal construction…

Silent as a shadow, Hades landed on a metal platform and, with a huge grin on his face, Harry jumped to the ground, stumbling at first as the muscles in his legs were stiff and frozen; but he caught his balance and looked around.

Laughing breathlessly, he ran to the railing, looking down at the glittering city, and cried out with joy. He had never even left Great Britain before; and now he stood on the Eiffel Tower in the middle of Paris, the wind ripping at his hair and clothes; all alone with the thestral. It felt like a dream; but the metal was freezing underneath his fingers and his eyes were tearing up from the wind, so it must be true.

He did not know for how long he stood there, marvelling in the feeling, and only when he felt Hades’ snout touching his hand, he lifted his gaze and smiled at the thestral. _Thank you_ , he whispered.

The thestral snorted softly, and bobbed his reptile-like head; and with a sigh, Harry climbed onto his back again. The Eiffel Tower might be really great, but flying was even _greater._

Hades took off with his wings still folded and so they dropped like a stone – Harry whooped loudly and laughed when Hades spread his wings and soared between tightly wrung metal bars; always dangerously close to colliding, but never even touching anything.

 _That_ was the kind of flying Harry loved – although Hermione would surely have a seizure if she could see him now. He screamed and laughed; and then they took off to the sky again, on their way back to Hogwarts.

They landed on the edge of the Forbidden Forest; and Harry suddenly realized that Hades would surely go and live in the Forest now. His lungs burned from so much cold air; and his eyes stung and teared up from the wind; still he felt as fresh and awake as he had not for the longest time.

 _Will I see you again?,_ he asked sadly.

Hades’ snout felt warm on his skin, which was frozen from the flight. _You will_ , he whispered. _You may come to me whenever you wish; and I will come to you whenever you wish me to. Sleep well, my human._ He nudged Harry with his snout and galloped off, disappearing between the trees.

Harry had to smile – _my human_ , it sounded kind of funny; but then again, he called Hedwig _my owl_ , too, without finding it weird, so it probably wasn’t strange.

With a bright smile and a spring in his step, he returned to the castle.


	13. Chapter 13

Cedric sauntered through the lonely, silent corridors on the fourth floor, sighing from time to time. Patrolling through Hogwarts at night was really one of the worst things about being a prefect – it was just so pointless and boring. Most people stayed in the Common Room anyway; and if they went indeed outside, most of them were clever enough not to be caught – like Harry. He smiled – the way Harry made sound it he seemed to have spent more time roaming through the castle at night than sleeping in his dorm, like he should.

Suddenly, he heard steps – rather loud steps at that, almost as if someone was… hopping? There was a quiet hum, too, and with a frown Cedric walked into the direction where the sounds came from. “… Harry?” he asked, surprised.

And it was in fact Harry who had been walking along the corridor, humming under his breath, and now he turned around and smiled at him. “Cedric!” he said brightly – Cedric was quite taken aback; he had never before seen Harry look so relaxed. And Harry hadn’t smiled at him like that before, either – he looked really beautiful with that happy smile and his bright eyes.

“What are you doing here?” he asked. “You know you should be in your dorm.” Then, he wanted to kick himself – really, Harry was visibly glad to see him – and he gave the prefect? What was wrong with him?

Harry, however, just laughed. “Are you going to give me detention?” he drawled, stepping closer, an amused twinkle in his eyes.

Cedric opened his mouth to respond with something witty – if only he knew what. Harry laughed and came even closer, wrapping his arms around Cedric’s neck. And then he kissed him, with his sweet, hot mouth, pressing himself up against Cedric; and he couldn’t help but pull Harry closer to him, enclosing him in his arms. “No,” he murmured softly, “no, of course I won’t. Still, you should be sleeping right now.”

“But the rules don’t say in which bed, do they?” Harry breathed, kissing along his jaw. “What about I sleep in your bed tonight?”

“What?” Cedric asked, aghast – the ideas Harry always came up with! It was really hard to keep pace with him. “You can’t, Harry, that’s just…”

“Don’t you want me in your bed?” Harry asked, blinking at him with innocent eyes and playing with his collar.

Cedric sighed – how was he supposed to say _no_ to anything when Harry looked at him like that? “But you would be seen,” he said, somewhat feebly.

“No, I won’t,” Harry said; and then he came very close, whispering into his ear. “I happen to have an invisibility cloak, remember?” He grinned and stepped back. “What say you?”

He _knew_ it was not a good idea, but… how could he ever resist Harry? “My shift’s over anyway,” he murmured, admitting defeat with a glance at his watch.

“Perfect,” Harry said, taking his hand – it was the first time ever Harry took his hand – and pulling slightly. His hands were ice cold, but slick with sweat, Cedric noticed.

“Why are you so… well…” He didn’t know what to say – he could hardly ask Harry why he was so happy tonight, when he always seemed stressed out, could he?

“Why I’m in such a good mood tonight, you mean?” Harry must have guessed his thoughts and laughed quietly. “It’s a secret,” he whispered then, his lips so close to Cedric’s ear once again, “but I went flying tonight.” He didn’t seem willing to say anything else and placed a short kiss on Cedric’s cheek.

Cedric had no idea how flying might have put Harry in such a euphoric mood, but he decided not to question it any further and enjoy his time with Harry instead. When they came to their Common Room, Harry pulled his invisibility cloak over his head – which was fascinating, and Cedric still wondered how Harry had come by it – they were incredibly rare and expensive; but he really shouldn’t be surprised at anything that had to do with Harry.

Silently, they snuck up to his dorm – where his classmates were asleep already – and Harry sat on the bed, looking around curiously. “So much yellow,” he breathed, poking at the yellow curtains around his bed. “And you’re really tidy.”

Cedric blushed a bit – his bed was indeed an isle of order amidst a sea of chaos which was in fact rather normal for several young males in one room. But he _was_ a very tidy person, he couldn’t help it, he couldn’t stand his stuff lying around on the floor, or his clothes being tossed into one big pile – everything had to be orderly. When he returned from the bathroom, Harry had already slipped underneath the covers, with his back to him and only his hair peeking out from underneath the blanket; looking to be asleep.

Cedric smiled, it looked kind of cute; and carefully, as not to wake him, he pulled the curtains close and slipped underneath the covers, too. However, as turned out, Harry was not asleep at all; instead he turned around and – as Cedric realized with shock – he was _naked_. “Harry!” he hissed, aghast, and pressed his hand over his mouth – he mustn’t be too loud.

“Don’t worry, I put up a silencing and a privacy spell around your bed,” Harry said lightly and draped his leg over Cedric’s. His hands were fumbling with the buttons of Cedric’s pyjama shirt.

“What are you _doing_?” Cedric asked although that was quite obvious. He grabbed Harry’s wrists to stop him from unbuttoning his shirt completely. “Harry, what’s wrong with you? Have you… are you _drunk_?”

Harry seemed to be a bit offended by that, for he tried to wriggle out of Cedric’s grip and frowned. “Am I not allowed to be happy to see my boyfriend and make out with him?”

Cedric’s breath hitched in his throat – had Harry actually called him his boyfriend? He was completely stunned at that. “What?” he whispered. “Are we… official?”

“Don’t you want to?” Harry asked.

“Well, of course I want to,” Cedric assured him hastily. “I was not sure if you wanted that, too… I didn’t want to overwhelm you.”

Harry rolled his eyes – as ever when Cedric said something he thought to be overly careful, but then he smiled his beautiful smile. “I don’t think we should go public yet,” he said, “but I _want_ you to be my boyfriend.”

And suddenly, all of Cedric’s doubts about Harry possibly not even liking him, not wanting him; of not being good enough for Harry, were blown away and he let go of Harry’s wrists to pull him into a deep kiss that seemed to last for ages. And now, he didn’t mind anymore that Harry opened his buttons with skilled, but still unusually cold fingers; and that Harry pushed him onto his back to climb onto his lap; and he marvelled at the sight of a naked Harry, with his beautiful face and his eyes hazy with lust, his pale, smooth skin, his lean, well-toned body, and he let his eyes wander further south…

But what was _that_? There was a huge, dark stain on his own stomach, and for one absurd moment he thought someone must have stabbed him, until he realized that Harry’s hands and wrists were dark and slick with blood and when he looked at his own hands, they were dark with blood, too. “What?!” he half-gasped, half-screamed, looking frantically over Harry’s body –

“What?” Harry asked, blinking, but Cedric had already seen it: the wound where the thestral had bitten him last week had opened up again; and while it didn’t bleed very much, there was a steady trickle of blood running down Harry’s wrist. Cedric moaned with worry for Harry, shoved him from his lap and placed him on his back; then he rummaged through his drawers wildly, surely he must have…

There! He pulled out a disinfection paste and applied it to the gash gingerly before he murmured a healing spell. The wound closed obediently – which was kind of lucky, he supposed, and after further rummaging he discovered a blood-replenishing potion, too. “What is it?” Harry asked, his eyes filled with confusion.

“You were _bleeding_ ,” Cedric said – hadn’t he realized? Obviously not, for Harry frowned.

“Weird,” he murmured. “I never knew… the wound mustn’t have closed…” He looked at his wrist curiously, turning it before his eyes.

“You lost a lot of blood,” Cedric said, cleaning Harry and himself up with a _Scourgify_ – well, at least that would explain why Harry had been behaving like that – although it saddened him to think that Harry had had to lose dangerous amounts of blood in order be euphoric at seeing him. And, he supposed, Harry had been really lucky that he had come with him – if he had gone to bed in his own dorm, he might not even have realized he was losing blood – Cedric shuddered to think about what might have happened then. “I will take you to the Hospital Wing.”

“Oh no,” Harry whined. “Madam Pomfrey will keep me there for days, I know it, and then she’ll be going on about thestrals…”

“Excuse me?” Cedric said – he knew only very little about thestrals – well, the only thing he knew was that they were invisible to those who had not seen death, so they had not been of great interest to him yet.

“Well, she thinks they’re dangerous, but Hades likes me, so what’s the matter? Can’t I stay with you, Cedric? I’m terribly tired and the Hospital Wing is so far away… and you already healed me anyway.” He yawned for emphasis and cuddled closer to him.

Cedric sighed – apparently the blood loss had made Harry go really soft; otherwise he surely wouldn’t have begged Cedric like that – in fact, Cedric was quite sure that Harry had never begged anyone to do anything; he was way too proud for that. But how was he supposed to say no? It was not like he _wanted_ Harry to leave. “Fine,” he said with a deep sigh, “but if you feel nauseous or weak, you must immediately tell me, alright?”

“’Course,” Harry said with a soft smile, “thank you for saving me. My knight in shining armour.” That was kind of a weird thing to say, Cedric thought, but Harry had already fallen asleep; his face oddly peaceful. Carefully, Cedric wrapped one arm around Harry, making sure he still had enough space, and pulled the covers up over both of them. He pondered for a while about what Harry had said about thestrals; somehow that wound must have opened again and not stopped bleeding… which would kill you sooner or later, and again he shivered, pulling Harry even closer.

The next morning, Cedric awoke to a feeling of utter bliss – which was due to the fact that Harry lay in his arms – _still naked_ – and was scattering lazy kisses along his throat. “Good morning,” he whispered and smiled.

“Good morning,” Cedric murmured back, still feeling a bit drowsy – the feeling passed soon enough, however, when Harry pulled him into a kiss. Their kiss got heavier very soon and Cedric could feel Harry’s hand sneaking downwards between their bodies; and then he pulled down Cedric’s pyjama pants, closing his fingers around his cock and rubbing it with sure, deft fingers.

Cedric moaned; it felt amazing, and he pulled Harry even closer, fumbling a bit to take Harry’s erection in his hand, too, when Harry whispered: “Stop.”

Alarmed, Cedric let go of him. What had he done _now_? Didn’t Harry want to be touched? Oh, why was it that he had to do everything wrong when Harry was concerned? He wasn’t _used_ to things going wrong – normally, everything worked out for him, but with Harry, it was a completely different matter.

“What is it?” he asked nervously.

Harry climbed over him, propping himself up with his forearms and kissing along his throat, and his jaw, and his shoulders. “Do you want to sleep with me?” he breathed, his warm, soft lips so close to Cedric’s ear.

Shocked, Cedric grabbed Harry’s chin and forced him up a bit so he had to look into Cedric’s eyes. “What?” he asked, more sharply than he had intended to.

And with that, the mood was gone. Harry sat up, his expression unreadable. “Don’t you want to?” he asked coolly.

Cedric suppressed a sigh – and there his difficulties with Harry were back in full force. “Harry,” he said, stroking his cheek gingerly, “you know it’s not like that. I want to, but not now. I want it to be special; and we should both take our time to prepare for it. This will be your first time; it will hurt.”

An odd expression flashed over Harry’s face. “It’s not,” he said harshly. “But as you wish.” He removed Cedric’s hand from his cheek and sat back on the bed, pointedly not looking at him.

That stung. Cedric swallowed, not knowing what he was supposed to feel now: Was he disappointed because Harry had not come to him a virgin? No, that was firstly absurd and secondly totally outdated. Was he jealous? Yes. Yes, definitely. “Who was he?” He couldn’t stop himself from asking although he was pretty sure that Harry wouldn’t answer. Still, he wanted to know – he _had_ to know who else had been there.

“What does it matter to you?” Harry asked coolly. He had checked out the dormitory and obviously adjudged the dorm to be safe – luckily, Cedric’s friends always let him sleep in when he had late night shifts – as he pulled the curtains apart and sauntered through their dorm in all his naked glory, looking for his clothes.

“ _Harry_ ,” Cedric said. “Please, don’t… don’t be so cold with me. Don’t you want to come back to me?” He looked at Harry hopefully.

Harry stopped and stared at him. “No,” he said and continued the search for his clothes. Without saying a word, he disappeared into the bathroom and seconds later, a shower was running.

With a sigh, Cedric trooped to the bathroom, too. It was kind of odd, showering next to Harry without saying a word; so he decided to break the silence. “Harry?” he asked softly.

First, there was silence; then he heard an unwilling: “Yes?”

“I’m sorry,” Cedric said – somehow the only thing he ever did, when he was with Harry, was to apologize. “I didn’t mean to… refuse you. I… just think it is too early.”

There was a sigh, and the other shower stopped; and all of a sudden, Harry stood in _his_ shower stall. “Let’s not talk about it anymore,” he said, stepping closer; and all Cedric knew that he suddenly held a very naked, very wet Harry in his arms; and they kissed, and Cedric marvelled at the smoothness of Harry’s soft skin, and at the heat of his sweet mouth.

The shower continued pouring blissfully warm water over them, while their kisses got heavier; they were moaning into each other’s mouths; and Cedric’s hands were cupping Harry’s bum, pulling him in closer; and Harry stood on his tiptoes, fingernails digging into Cedric’s neck; their hips bumping into each other; and Harry’s hand snuck down again. This time, he took both of their cocks, rubbing them; and Cedric groaned, leaning against cool tiles in order to keep himself up; and Harry kissed him so passionately he couldn’t hold onto himself anymore and he came onto Harry’s hand and thighs; and he could feel Harry come, too.

He leaned his forehead against Cedric’s chest, breathing heavily; but Cedric pulled him up, giving him a lazy kiss. “That was amazing,” he murmured.

Harry snickered. “Every day should start like that, shouldn’t it?”

“Definitely,” Cedric agreed full-heartedly; nevertheless, he dutifully turned off the shower and offered Harry a towel before he wrapped himself into a towel. Casually, he glanced at his watch – “Oh bugger, we’re really late!”

Both of them hurried while putting on their clothes – Harry’s shirt did look quite rumpled from lying on the floor all night long, so Cedric straightened it with a quick spell. “Neat,” Harry said, admiring his now smooth shirt, “you have to teach that to me one day.”

“I will, but not now,” Cedric said while Harry put on his invisibility cloak once more. Together, they snuck down – but the Common Room was abandoned, luckily, and so Harry took off his cloak again. He wanted to open the portrait when Cedric held him back. “Wait,” he said. “I wanted to ask you something… were you serious last night? About you and me being a couple?”

“What made you think I wasn’t?” Harry asked softly.

“Well, you had lost a lot of blood and I wasn’t sure if you were… clear of mind.”

“I was _very_ clear of mind,” Harry said, eyes narrowing, “and yes, I was serious. I want to be with you.”

And that was the most beautiful thing he could have said; Cedric pulled him into a close hug and Harry yelped when he was almost crushed in Cedric’s arms. “That is wonderful,” Cedric breathed; and again they kissed, and Cedric forgot everything around him, until Harry interrupted their kiss.

“We should be leaving,” he reminded him.

“Right,” Cedric agreed and together they jogged towards the Great Hall.

“Probably, most people will be gone already,” Harry said when they neared the doors, “we’re _really_ late. Anyway, gotta keep up the illusion, don’t we?” He pushed the door open, not paying any mind to the other students – he never paid much mind to other students, Cedric had noted, well, probably he would go mad otherwise. “Fancy meeting you, Diggory,” he said, his voice suddenly almost unfriendly. “Good luck for the Second Task then, I’ll see you round.”

Without even looking at him, he began shuffling through his bag while trooping towards his friends – which were always easy to spot, as Cedric had noticed – whenever he was seeking out Harry, he only had to look for a gaggle of redheads and very bushy hair – chances were good that Harry was with them.

He did pay attention to his surroundings, though, so he realized very soon that something was amiss. The Hall was filled to the brim – which was very unusual for that time in the morning – and a hushed whisper had risen when they had entered together. Suspiciously, he sat next to his classmates who openly stared at him as if they had never seen him before. “What?” he asked, somewhat annoyed.

Someone pushed the _Daily Prophet_ over to him and Cedric paled at the title.

_YOUNG LOVE BLOSSOMING BETWEEN HOGWARTS TRIWIZARD CHAMPIONS_

Beneath the headline, there were three pictures – they were slightly blurred, but still there was no way anyone could mistake the two people kissing in the pictures for someone else.

Cedric swallowed and began to read the article.

_By: Rita Skeeter_

_As your dearest reporter has learned from reliable resources, romance seems to be blossoming in Hogwarts! The Triwizard Champions Harry Potter and Cedric Diggory were caught kissing in all kinds of locations (see pictures 1, 2 and 3). Obviously they can’t keep their fingers from one another!_

_A short reminder: This year, the Triwizard Tournament takes place at Hogwarts and, surprisingly, this year four students instead of three were chosen to take part, namely: Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, Cedric Diggory, everyone’s sweetheart at Hogwarts and son of Amos Diggory, a popular and well-known Ministry worker, Viktor Krum, Bulgarian Seeker, and Fleur Delacour, a beautiful girl from Beauxbatons._

_As Hogwarts students went to Hogsmeade two weeks ago to do their Christmas shopping, these two sweethearts used the time to steal away for a romantic walk in the beautiful, snowy landscape around Hogsmeade, which led to sweet kisses (see picture 1)._

_The second photo shows them in a Hogwarts corridor, taking advantage of an area deserted of students – again, what a romantic kiss! And the third photo is very current – from last night, to be precise; here naughty boy Harry Potter keeps his boyfriend from doing his prefect duty._

_Students from all Houses confirmed Cedric Diggory’s long-lasting crush on the Boy-Who-Lived – finally the boy hero seems to have opened his heart for the handsome Pureblood heir! “Cedric has been crushing on Potter since their Quidditch game last year; after Potter fell from his broom – he claimed to have been weakened by the Dementors – but Potter never even looked at him,” a Hufflepuff-student says._

_So we have to wonder now: what made our picky Boy-Who-Lived suddenly pay attention to shy Cedric Diggory? “It was the Tournament,” a Ravenclaw student says, “it forced Potter to open his eyes and realize that he is not the only one around here. If Cedric hadn’t been chosen to be our Champion, despite Potter cheating his way in, he probably never would have given Cedric more than a second glance.”_

_Our faithful readers will surely remember the detailed article we wrote about Harry Potter and his tragic childhood which has probably influenced his current behaviour. Will Cedric manage to dry his tears and help him overcome his trauma?_

_Other students, however, seem quite convinced that the Boy-Who-Lived is only using Cedric for his own measures. “He’s not the tragic orphan people believe him to be,” a Slytherin student explains. “He’s arrogant – the fame has really gone to his head – and doesn’t care about those around him – obviously they are not worth his attention. I’m sure he has Diggory wrapped around his finger.”_

_And indeed, judging from the pictures, it seems as if it is Harry who wears the breeches in their relationship, despite being the younger one; if the way he grabs the prefect’s collar in every single one of the pictures is any indication._

_Another student goes even further with his assumptions for the relationship: “I’m pretty sure Potter only utilises Diggory – everyone knows Diggory is the perfect gentleman with a really soft heart, so how could he not let his boyfriend win?” This portrays their still young love in a very different light – is it true, though? We will have to leave the question unanswered; however we will deliver any new information as soon as possible to our faithful readers._


	14. Chapter 14

Harry couldn’t have chosen a more inappropriate moment to enter the Great Hall with Cedric, Hermione thought – he couldn’t have known, of course, but still, this was really bad timing. It was like everyone held their breath when they entered together; and then a hushed whisper ran through the room. Harry seemed oblivious – well, he was used to whispers following him wherever he went, and he mostly ignored the other students, so that was to be expected.

He walked towards them with brisk steps, having spotted them with just one look, and rummaged through his bag while walking. “Morning,” he said without looking up, “Ron, can you remember where I put my Transfiguration essay? I can’t find it.”

“Mate,” Ron said, “Harry, _mate_.”

At that, Harry looked up. “Yeah?” he asked, blinking.

Ron swallowed. “Bad news, mate,” he said uncomfortably, pushing the _Daily Prophet_ over to him. Harry rolled his eyes – Hermione knew he thought the _Daily Prophet_ to be rubbish – well, she did, too – nevertheless he picked the newspaper up obediently. He froze when he saw the headline.

“Harry,” Hermione said, placing her hand on his, but he didn’t seem to hear her as he skimmed through the article.

“So it’s true then?” Seamus asked curiously as soon as Harry dropped the paper with a disgusted expression.

“Shut up, Seamus,” Harry said and helped himself to a few pancakes. He was obviously trying to ignore the whole thing, playing it cool, but Hermione saw his hands trembling slightly and his jaw clenching.

Ron placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “I wish it hadn’t come out like that,” he mouthed so quietly only Harry and she could hear.

“Neither do I,” Harry said, his face expressionless.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” Hermione said quietly. “Were you even…,” she lowered her voice even further and Ron leaned in a bit, “were you even… official?” It hadn’t seemed like that the last days – she had rather assumed the opposite, despite hoping it might work out – she had thought Harry would break up with Cedric – but with the way Cedric had looked at Harry this morning, it had been kind of obvious.

“Since last night,” Harry said very quietly.

“Oh,” Ron said, seemingly stunned. Probably he hadn’t expected Harry to do the very opposite of what he had predicted. “You… er, stayed with him then?”

Harry nodded, his face still expressionless.

“Bad timing, mate,” Ron breathed, “ _really_ bad timing.”

Then someone stepped up behind them and with the way Harry tensed, Hermione already knew it was Cedric. All whispers around them died and there was a sudden, eerie silence.

“Can we talk?” Cedric asked very quietly. Harry said nothing; he placed his fork on the table with more force than necessary and stood up abruptly, following Cedric outside, still silent.

“Whew,” Ron breathed, “what a morning.”

“Harry will have a hard time,” Hermione agreed quietly. Neither of them had said anything about the article or the photos so far; and Ron fended off curious questions while she glanced at the pictures once more. They were a bit blurred, but they still easily held an observer’s gaze. All of them showed Harry and Cedric kissing; but for some reason, it was always Harry who initiated their kiss by grabbing Cedric’s collar.

Hermione cringed at the article, “ _it seems as if it is Harry who wears the breeches in their relationship, despite being the younger one_ ”, but she had to admit that there probably was a certain truth to it. She knew Harry, of course, and she vaguely knew Cedric, too, and it was obvious to her that it would be Harry who made the decisions – like Cedric would ever say no to anything that Harry suggested.

 

xXx

 

Harry was trying to keep his temper under control while he followed Cedric outside with brisk steps; he wanted to scream at the other students that the article was nothing but a load of bullshit – but he knew no one would believe him. “Harry,” Cedric said, his voice insistent, “are you alright?”

“What do you think?” Harry hissed, crossing his arms. He didn’t want to be mad at Cedric, but somehow he couldn’t stop himself – surely Cedric would be so fucking understanding now and he was already unnerved by even the prospect of it.

“Well, I think you are not alright,” Cedric said softly, trying to take Harry’s hands, but he ripped his hands from Cedric’s grip once more. “You and I know none of this is true.”

“Is it not?” Harry asked harshly. “Would you let me win?”

Cedric hesitated for just a second and Harry narrowed his eyes to slits. “I _knew_ ,” he said. “Don’t you dare. Don’t you fucking _dare_.”

“I never said a word,” Cedric defended himself, but Harry snorted.

“Stop being such a fucking good soul for just one second, Cedric, it’s getting on my nerves.” At this, Cedric frowned and sighed, but he said nothing, which made Harry even madder – Cedric was supposed to snarl right back at him and not be so bloody _understanding_. “Never mind, how did she get those pictures?” he asked after a few calming breaths. “Did you see anyone?”

“No,” Cedric said, shaking his head. “I only had eyes for you, though,” he added with a lopsided smile.

Harry rolled his eyes – trust Cedric to turn this into something sappy. But he hadn’t seen anyone either – and he was pretty sure that _he_ would have noticed if someone was near them – he was always very aware of people watching him, despite ignoring them most of the time. Did this Skeeter-bitch have an invisibility cloak? But he doubted it – he knew they were expensive as hell and very rare, so that was unlikely. Were there invisibility spells?

Surely there were – after all, Dumbledore had managed to sneak on him in his first year, too – but how should she have gotten onto Hogwarts grounds? You couldn’t just merrily walk through the gates – so had the photos been taken by students? But that once again posed the problem of someone being near them – Harry narrowed his eyes. He would do some research on this subject and ask Ron and Hermione for their help.

“Harry?” Cedric asked quietly. “Are you mad at me?”

“No,” Harry said after a few seconds with a sigh – he knew it wasn’t Cedric’s fault, of course. “I’m just… mad in general.”

“That’s understandable,” Cedric said with a relieved smile. “I just don’t want this article to stand between us.”

“It doesn’t,” Harry assured him – there might be other things, though, but Harry didn’t want to think about them now. He still wasn’t really sure if he wanted to be with Cedric – he felt like he _should_ want it, like he _should_ be happy with him – but what he truly wanted, that he didn’t know. And there was a quiet, nagging voice in his mind that told him that he only was with Cedric so he could evade Flint and the fact that part of him still longed for him – did that make sense? Probably not.

 

xXx

 

The next morning began with another disaster: first, there was another cringe worthy article in the _Daily Prophet_ ; an interview with Amos Diggory where he accused Harry of seducing his son just so he could win the Tournament, which had caused quite the tumult in the Great Hall and Harry had actually had to pull up a shield around him as a few hexes (well, they were minor hexes, they were Hufflepuffs after all) had come into his direction. And then, there had been not only one, but fifteen Howlers.

The first one had been by Cedric’s father – this time he was yelling at Harry in person; he knew quite a few choice insults, for being such a dutiful Ministry worker; and he told Harry never approach his son again. And there were more Howlers by people Harry didn’t know, had never even known the names of – most of them carried female voices though; one of them accusing him of being “a gay slut” – why, however, she couldn’t elaborate.

Cedric had tried to talk to him, but Harry had decided not to be a Gryffindor for once – he had skipped lessons and spent the day in their dorm, not willing to face even more hateful glances, barely hushed gossip or outright insults – and he didn’t fancy a few hexes either. He had – well, he _had_ hidden in his dorm because he was totally fed up with people either taunting him (as Malfoy had done with glee), laughing at him because he apparently was a sap, calling him hateful names or accusing him of utilising Cedric – there was a very large group of girls who accused him of just this – one girl had actually told him it was his fault Cedric had turned gay. Harry snorted at the memory – sometimes one had to wonder how people made it through the exams.

And he was not at all in the mood of seeing Cedric – he knew it wasn’t Cedric’s fault his father was an arsehole (it would be like accusing him for Uncle Vernon being an asshole); but still he simply didn’t feel up to it.

“Harry! Harry, come down, mate!” Harry, who lay on his bed, books about camouflage spells spread all around him, frowned at the door; then he closed his book with a sigh (it was surprisingly interesting) and jogged down to the Common Room.

“Harry!” He sped up a bit – normally Ron only sounded that urgent when he had discovered a particularly large spider and wanted Harry to eliminate it right now. They had a silent agreement on that: Harry would remove any spider from Ron’s surroundings without saying a word whereas Ron would dutifully wake him up every morning – so far, both of them had only gained.

“What’s up?” he asked – Ron was out of breath and had obviously told something to Hermione who looked shocked.

“Mate, talk’s all over the castle: Cedric got beaten up – like, really bad. Apparently his nose was broken and his wrist, too – a few Seventh Years who found him brought him to the Hospital Wing; Madam Pomfrey’s healing him.”

“Who was it?” Harry asked although he knew. There was only one suspect.

Ron shrugged. “Nobody knows – apparently Cedric can’t remember.”

“I’ll go,” Harry said, jogging out of the Common Room before Ron could even say a word – but once he was outside, he stopped to consider what to do. He pulled out the Marauder’s Map and checked it – Cedric was in the Infirmary, with Madam Pomfrey bustling about him; but he was looking for another name, in fact – there he was, on the fourth floor.

He hesitated for a moment – he knew he _should_ go to Cedric first, but then his instincts won and he ran down to the fourth floor. There he stood, looking out of the window, his broad back turned towards Harry, the muscles in his neck bulging and his hands curled into fists. He turned around when he heard Harry approaching, though; his face a grimace of suppressed anger. “What do you think you’re doing?” he growled.

“The question is what you think you’re doing,” Harry hissed. “Beating Cedric up like that? He never did anything to you. You had no fucking reason to do this.”

“He allowed you to get hurt,” Flint snarled. “The rumours are all about the castle – you think I cannot calculate the dates? I know he was with you when you were attacked by the acromantulae. He allowed you to _get hurt_.”

Stunned, Harry took a step back. That was almost… oddly romantic, in a very wrong way. Flint had interpreted his expression correctly and stepped closer to him. “You didn’t expect that, did you?” he drawled. “You thought I smashed in his pretty face because you’re with him?”

“Didn’t you?” Harry asked, crossing his arms.

“That too,” Flint admitted with a careless shrug. “Smashing in his face felt good. He whimpered like a coward.” There was a frightening grin on his face. “He deserved it, Potter. I heard the stories how you were hurt in the Forest – don’t you fucking tell me he didn’t deserve it.”

Harry winced at that – he sometimes conveniently forgot that Flint was not without the reason among the most feared students of Hogwarts – he was well known for closing fights with fists instead of words; and his brutality in Quidditch games was legendary – most Quidditch players received as many penalties during all their time in Hogwarts as he received in one game. Still, he wouldn’t be afraid of him – had never been, would never be. “You thought that beating him up would make me come back to you?”

“Well, you came to me, didn’t you?” Flint asked, triumph in his voice. “You went to me first instead of visiting poor Diggory in the Infirmary.”

Unfortunately, he was right – Harry had gone to _him_ first instead of his boyfriend – and he didn’t even know _why_. “I came because I knew it was you,” he hissed; and suddenly his wand was in his hand.

Flint, however, just laughed – and that _stung_. “Threatening me, Potter?”

Harry opened his mouth to speak a Stinging Hex, but before more than two syllables had left his mouth, Flint had grabbed his wrist, pressing his hand downwards, and pulled him close. “So defiant,” he breathed, and his mouth was dangerously close to Harry’s. “I like it.”

“Let go of me!” Harry hissed and managed to wriggle out of his grip. “I should hex you into next week!”

“You’re welcome to try,” Flint said lazily. “You’re standing too close, though, I’m faster than you.” And he was right – Harry prided himself on his good reflexes, but unfortunately, Flint was faster than him – and considerably stronger, which made this kind of futile. Still, that didn’t mean that he couldn’t hurt Flint with words.

“Still, I won’t get back with you,” he snarled, crossing his arms – and it was not like he had ever actually been with Flint. “Something in your mind is fucked up if you think beating up Cedric is going to make me crawl into your bed again.”

“You crawled into Diggory’s bed, didn’t you?” Flint asked harshly. “Are a few pretty words and a pretty face enough to make you spread your legs?”

“Unlike you, Cedric is kind and he actually cares for me,” Harry hissed – he couldn’t object and tell Flint that he had been the only one so far – then he might as well give in just now.

“Does he?” Flint snarled; and then his hands were on Harry’s upper arms, slamming him into the wall. Harry gasped with shock and tried to wriggle free from his grip, but Flint’s hands were like steel fetters on his arms – which made him wonder how he had managed to evade Flint’s grip before – probably because he had let him go. That was _not_ a good thought.

“Listen, Potter,” Flint growled, his face so close to Harry’s their noses almost touched, “I will not let Diggory have you. You are mine. _Mine_.”

An unwilling shiver ran down Harry’s spine at those words – still, he raised his chin defiantly, not willing to give in. “I am not,” he said in a loud, clear voice. “And I will never be. What are you going to do now? Beat me up, too?”

An odd expression flashed over Flint’s face. “I never would,” he said harshly. And then he said nothing anymore, just pressed Harry against the wall with his body and grabbed his chin with his right and kissed him – or tried to, rather, because Harry bit his lip hard, and kicked his shin with as much force as he could muster – he didn’t _want_ to be kissed by Flint, because alone being pressed against his strong, delicious body made his nerves prickle with anticipation – and he knew, if he let Flint kiss him, it was over – he would never be able to stop then.

Flint jerked back, wiping off his mouth with his right, but he still held Harry with his left. “Just leave me alone, Flint,” Harry hissed; he was breathing heavily and he could hear his own blood rush in his ears – nothing would be easier than to step up close to Flint and to kiss him; and Flint would rip off his clothes and cover every inch of his skin with hot, fiery kisses and – he shook his head to get rid of the thought. He mustn’t think that, he must remember that he was with Cedric now, he must remember that Flint had betrayed him, he must remember that he could never be with him, because Flint was on the other side.

Flint said nothing, just stared at him with dark eyes. Then suddenly, as if he had burned himself, he let go of Harry’s arm and walked off without saying another word – oddly, that hurt – Harry didn’t know how he had wanted Flint to react, but just marching off like that – that didn’t seem right. Deeply in thought, he rubbed his arm where Flint had held him – his skin prickled and he hastily stopped. Then he remembered what he had been supposed to do all along: going to the Hospital Wing.

Madam Pomfrey greeted him kindly when he entered – somehow she seemed joyous about the fact that it was for once not him whom she had to treat. “Mr. Diggory is almost restored to health,” she said happily. “He’ll be glad to see you – he already asked for you.”

 _Oops_ , Harry thought, but he forced himself to smile when Madam Pomfrey led him into the Hospital Wing. “Harry!” Cedric said, smiling at him from his bed. “It’s good to see you.”

“How are you?” Harry asked him, hurrying over to him and sitting on the bed. “What happened?”

“Oh, I don’t really remember,” Cedric said lightly. “I was on my way back from lunch when something hit me from behind; and when I woke up, my nose was broken and my wrist, too. But Madam Pomfrey healed both within seconds,” he gave her a charming smile and she actually blushed a bit, “and she only kept me here in case anything else was amiss.”

“Are you sure you don’t remember?” Harry asked, biting his lip. He should have hexed Flint when he walked off, with his back to him – but then again, he wasn’t Malfoy.

Cedric lowered his eyes, staring at the blanket. “No,” he said slowly. “But… but I don’t want you to do anything about it, okay? Whoever it might have been… they are dangerous. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

Somehow people said that awfully often to him, Harry thought – but he had to admit that he was rather prone to getting hurt. “Still,” he insisted. “Do you think –”

“No,” Cedric said sharply and Harry looked up in surprise. “I don’t want you to do anything about it, Harry. It was never really bad in first place, and I think we should leave it at that. Besides I think it’s kind of fair if it’s me who lands himself in the Hospital Wing, don’t you think? You’re here so often…” He took Harry’s hand, stroking his palm, and smiled at him. “Please, Harry, let’s not talk about it anymore, alright?”

Harry frowned at him – Cedric was definitely behaving weirdly. “Fine,” he said reluctantly, “when will you be out of here again?”

“Whenever Madam Pomfrey deems me healthy again,” he said with a smile; and again, she blushed a bit.

“Why, Mr. Diggory, it seems to me your health is perfectly in order,” she said. “Please do come to me at once, though, should something be amiss.”

 

xXx

 

The following days went by like a whirlwind, and Harry hardly knew what happened around him – his popularity had obviously reached an all-time low as he had had to go to Madam Pomfrey twice; once because five Stinging Hexes had been fired at him at once – and when the first moment of shock and pain had passed; the only thing that he had heard had been steps of several people taking off quickly. His back and, embarrassingly, his bum also had hurt all day long and he had hardly been able to sit, despite Madam Pomfrey applying Healing Salve to his back. The second time he had been hit by a Stupor and he had received a long, deep gash on his temple when he crashed into a wall; and the only thing he remembered about that incident was how mad Madam Pomfrey had been – she was not known for getting furious easily (well, she was quite strict, but mostly calm), but this time she had flipped out; at dinner she had yelled at the collective of students, assuring that, if she ever found out who had that had been, she would let their injuries heal the muggle way whenever they came to her Hospital Wing.

And there had been countless minor hexes and tripping spells, but luckily, Harry was really not clumsy and had excellent reflexes so he had managed to stay on his feet most of the time – obviously it had become kind of a sport to see who could actually make him fall to the floor.

And all the time, Harry could feel Flint’s eyes burning on his neck; and once, when he was just kissing Cedric outside of the Great Hall, he stalked by, his face so dark Harry would not have been surprised if he had ripped Cedric away from him and thrown him to the ground to smash in his face once more.

All in all, he was more than relieved when this horrible week was finished and most students left Hogwarts for the Christmas Holidays. Ron and Hermione went home, too; both of them had offered Harry several times to spend Christmas with them, but Harry had assured them it was fine. Christmas always made him feel slightly uncomfortable – on the one hand, it was beautiful, spending time with his friends, eating tons of delicious food, giving and receiving gifts, having snowball fights and spending lazy evenings by the fireplace with too much candy and too much hot chocolate – but sometimes, he felt overwhelmed with so many displays of love and friendship, so much emotional intimacy. He simply wasn’t used to it and more often than not he found it emotionally exhausting.

Besides Neville stayed there, too; and Cedric had opted to stay at Hogwarts to show his father he stood with Harry – which Harry thought to be really sweet of him. He had – of course – apologized over and over for his father’s behaviour until Harry had shut him up with a long kiss.

Apart from that, only a few Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw Seventh Years he only knew very vaguely stayed there; and, as the only Slytherin, Flint.

Now _that_ would be fun holidays.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: None of this is mine; everything belongs to the great Joanne K. Rowling.

_He is impatiently waiting for Wormtail to return, once more wishing he did not depend on him – if only he had a body, if only he were_ stronger _… but soon enough he will be, he knows._

_Wormtail scuffles through the snow, holding a white peacock in his arms, making hoarse, screeching sounds and wings flapping, and he presses it closer to his chest. “Finally,” he says impatiently, “now petrify it.”_

_Wormtail obeys – and he hisses with unfelt pain at the way he moves his wand,_ so clumsy _– and then Wormtail stares at the three peacocks; all of them perfectly white and almost invisible in the ever falling snow. “What are you waiting for?” he asks. “Have you forgotten what I told you?”_

_“No, m’lord,” Wormtail stammers, pathetic fool that he is, and points his trembling wand at the first peacock. He wishes his loyal servant were here, he would not struggle with the simplest tasks; but he is at Hogwarts, watching the boy, and the enemy, and waiting._

_“Do it!” he says; and he hates his thin voice – but it is still enough to make Wormtail shudder in fear. Wormtail has to say the spell thrice before he manages to behead the first peacock; and tears run down his face when he has finally managed to behead all three of them. Their dark blood pools in the snow; and Wormtail dips in his trembling hands, and then he writes a word into the snow; the letters are crooked, but the message is not to be misunderstood._

_Then Wormtail picks him up, pressing him close to his chest, too close; and he digs his fingernails into Wormtail’s soft, fat neck; and with a violent shiver, Wormtail loosens his arms a bit._

_He closes his eyes – he has needed a lot of strength to break through the intricately woven wards and countless spells, many of them older than he; it would have been impossible for an ordinary wizard – but he is anything but. And he had to collect his strength while Wormtail took impossibly long too catch three peacocks, while he was lying and waiting and dreaming; but now he is strong enough; and like a knife pulled from a wound, he pulls out of the wards, out of the spells, taking Wormtail with him; and leaving nothing but three headless peacocks, their white feathers stained with blood now; and a word._

Remember _, it is written in blood; and oh, they will._

 

xXx

 

On Christmas morning Neville awoke slightly groggy – he hadn't slept well at all. He and Harry were the only two Gryffindors staying at Hogwarts over the holidays and he had hoped for some very calm nights (considering that neither Ron nor Seamus would disturb his sleep with loud snoring); but surprisingly, Harry had kept him awake. Normally, Harry was a very quiet sleeper – well, sometimes he had nightmares and woke all of them with blood-freezing screams, but that happened only once every two months or so; but this night he had been groaning as if in pain, sometimes moaning "No!" as if he were trying to hold someone back and tossing back and forth in his bed.

But still, it was Christmas, so there was no sleeping in today. He opened Harry's curtains mercilessly to let the light in and shook his shoulder. Harry didn't react – it seemed to be one of those mornings where all of them had to wait for like fifteen minutes until Ron had finally managed to wake Harry. "Harry! C'mon!" Neville shook him forcefully now, Harry's head lolling back and forth, until he groaned and blinked sleepily.

"Finally!" Neville said. Harry only stared at him as if he had never seen him before; then he groaned again and rubbed his eyes. "Are you alright?" Neville added.

"Morning," he mumbled. "'M fine, only nightmares. No worries."

"Very well then, merry Christmas!" Neville said brightly.

"Oh right, I forgot," Harry said, yawning. "Merry Christmas to you, too. Let's get downstairs, it'll be more comfortable."

Both of them grabbed their presents and trooped down into the Common Room in their pyjamas and jumpers, occupying the best seats by the fireplace. "Ah, it's nice when we're the only Gryffindors," Harry sighed, lounging in his seat comfortably and placing his feet on the table – something Hermione would have scolded him for, had she been there.

Neville agreed and picked up his first gift when there was a knock on the portrait.

Harry stood up to open it, and greeted Cedric who smiled at Harry and gave him a kiss that seemed to last for ages while Neville fidgeted in his seat nervously, until Harry led Cedric to their place by their fire. "I think you've never been officially introduced," he said brightly. "Neville, that's Cedric, my boyfriend; Cedric, that's Neville, a good friend."

He smiled at Neville and Neville blushed – Harry had actually called him his friend; and a _good_ one, at that. "Good to meet you," Cedric said, shaking his hand and Neville managed to stutter his agreement.

"I'll go upstairs then," he said quietly and gathered his presents – he didn't want to intrude on their privacy, but Harry grabbed his arm.

"I should've mentioned it to you before, Neville, but I invited Cedric over since he's the only Puff in his year; and I thought it might be nice if he spent Christmas with us. What do you think?"

"Oh, that's fine with me," Neville stammered. "I just thought… I thought you might want have some… er, you might want to spend your time alone." He most certainly didn't want to be in the Common Room when Harry and Cedric had some alone-time.

"I wouldn't invite Cedric over and kick you out, would I?" he asked softly. "I want to spend Christmas with you, too."

"Oh," Neville said, blushing. "Well yeah, that's fine then. Guests first then, I guess."

While Cedric opened his gifts, Neville couldn't help but notice that he looked slightly out of place: Harry and he were in their pyjamas (he wore a pair that his grandmother had gifted him for his birthday; it had moving pictures of Nifflers) and fuzzy slippers; and Harry with his pyjama with snitches on it and mussed hair; whereas Cedric wore dark grey robes with a burgundy shirt and had his hair perfectly styled. Probably he had dressed up for Harry, which was kind of cute, Neville thought.

Cedric received a lot of candy and some Quidditch things (Neville didn't know too much about those), but his face was frozen when he said: "So, my father decided not to gift me anything. Nevermind." A bright smile appeared on his face, however, when he picked up Harry's gift and opened it gingerly. "A visit to the Eiffel Tower?" he asked, confused. "Isn't that some Muggle monument?"

"It's in Paris," Harry said. "It's, um… it's really cool. Muggles love it." He played with the buttons of his pyjama and looked down into his lap. Obviously he had hoped for a different reaction.

So Neville decided to help him. "Hermione told me about it," he added in. "I want to visit it someday, too, as Muggles come from all over the world to see it."

"Oh, I didn't know that," Cedric said. "But it sounds great."

"That's not what you expected, is it?" Harry asked, eyes downcast.

"It's wonderful," Cedric assured him and pulled Harry close. "I can hardly wait to learn more about Muggle culture." Then he kissed Harry and Neville stared into the cackling fire awkwardly while their kiss lasted on and on.

"Sorry, Neville," Harry said after a while and Neville turned back around – he looked a bit ruffled, but at least both of them still wore all of their clothes.

"It's no problem at all," Neville assured him. "But, Harry, how do you want to get there?"

Harry's face brightened. "It's a surprise," he said, winking at Neville. "I happen to know someone who will take us there."

"Well, okay," Neville said, a bit confused. "Who's next; you or me?"

"You first; as a compensation" Harry said with a grin.

Neville blushed and unwrapped his presents – as every year, Grandma gifted him with practical things (she had no patience for "gifts that only look pretty and no one will use anyway") such as horrendously patterned panties and socks and old-fashioned jumpers, which Neville hated, but he still dutifully wore them although Grandma couldn't even see it as she was currently visiting relatives (whom Neville found terrible) in Ireland. He received candy from Ron and Hermione; and from Harry a book on extinct magical plants that Herbologists were trying to grow again.

"Er, I hope that kind of thing is interesting to you," Harry said a bit nervously. "Otherwise I'll get you something different."

"It's great," Neville assured him and leafed through the book. "It looks really interesting – oh look, there is even a chapter on the Pendragon Potatoes! They have been extinct for centuries! Merlin himself is said to have planted these… apparently only one could nourish hundreds!"

"Well, that's nice," Harry said, obviously clueless, but Neville beamed at him. "It's amazing, Harry!"

"Well, good," Harry said, obviously relieved. "Now it's my turn. Oh, that is awesome!" he breathed as soon as he had opened a clumsily wrapped gift that must be Ron's as it was wrapped in bright orange Chudley Channon's paper. It was a photo album with photos of Harry's time throughout their school years at Hogwarts; of the trio, of course, of the Weasley family, of Hermione with her parents, of all their classmates, of Harry with the Quidditch team and so on. There even a few photos of him with Harry, Neville saw and couldn't help but smile.

Hermione's gift turned out to be – of course – a book on advanced spell patterns. Harry flipped through the book, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "It looks really interesting, I can't wait to read it," he said with a grin and opened more presents (candy and an emerald green sweater with a roaring Hungarian Horntail on it; a book on advanced Defence Against the Dark Arts and a jumper in Gryffindor colours; and one that could only stem from Hagrid as it contained rock biscuits and a book on dragons.

Neville had gifted him a book with short biographies of the most famous Seekers from all around the word and Harry thanked him heartily.

Next was Cedric's present; "I hope you like it," Cedric said, swallowing and shifting a bit on the couch.

His gift was of course perfectly wrapped in beautiful dark blue paper with silver stars on it, and Harry picked up the gift card first. There was a faint smile on his face as he read it and he gave Cedric a – thankfully short – kiss.

Then he hastily unwrapped the gift and revealed what seemed to be a scarf from a lightweight, silver fabric.

"Wow, that's Acromantula silk, it's incredibly expensive!" Neville blurted – he recognized the fabric; his grandmother had a shawl made from Acromantula silk that had been in their family for generations and still showed no signs of use. This kind of silk was very rare (as you had to retrieve the silk in danger for your own life), but it was practically indestructible, yet very lightweight and still warmer than even the thickest wool.

Then it clicked and he realized that this might not have been the cleverest thing to say, as Cedric blushed fiercely.

Harry hadn't said anything yet, he just stared at the silver thing in his hands. "I noted you almost never wear a scarf or anything of that kind, so I figured you might need one," Cedric explained nervously when Harry was still silent. "I always wondered if you weren't cold."

Actually, Neville often wondered the same thing – when he was bundled up with thick warm boots, at least three jumpers and a scarf, hat and gloves with thermal charms, Harry only wore trainers, his school uniform and neither a scarf nor a hat nor gloves. Neville knew that Hermione always told Harry to dress more warmly, but as ever he ignored her motherly advice; and still Neville couldn't help but wonder if Harry's aunt had ever told him to dress warmly when he was a child – probably not. He swallowed and lowered his gaze; he knew Harry _hated_ pity, but sometimes Neville just felt so sorry for him – he knew what it was like to grow up without parents (well, _his_ parents were still alive, but they were in no state to care for him), but at least Grandma looked after him and she truly cared for him, despite being strict and old-fashioned.

Harry must have realized that they were staring at him, so he blinked and cleared his throat. "That's amazing, Cedric, thank you. I'll wear it later when we're outside." He smiled, but for some reason it looked as if he were about to cry.

He sniffed and placed Cedric's present very carefully on the little round table where the other gifts were already piled haphazardly. "There's one left," Neville said, pointing to the floor.

Harry picked it up, turning it in his hands; it was rather small and wrapped in black paper without a card. "Who is it from?" Cedric asked curiously.

"I don't know," Harry said, but somehow it seemed to Neville that he knew very well; and he curiously leant closer when Harry unwrapped it. Inside was a wooden box with little holes on the sides. Very carefully, Harry opened the box – and there was a quiet hiss.

"Oh," Harry breathed and reached inside the box to pick up a tiny snake; it was very thin and about as long as his forearm, with shining black scales.

Neville jerked back whereas Cedric reached for his wand, but Harry's face lit up like the sun and he hissed back at the snake.

Neville shuddered; he couldn't explain why, but Parsel was so _scary_ ; it was something about these inhuman hisses and the way Harry's eyes were so intense suddenly. He had only seen him speak Parsel once before; in the Duelling Club, he remembered; and he remembered his fear, and how everyone had had this same thought: that this small, skinny boy would make the huge, furious snake attack another student when he had in truth stopped it from attacking. No one had expected the low, frightening hisses to come from Harry's mouth and there had seemed to be a sudden dark aura about him. It was no surprise that most people thought him to be Slytherin's Heir afterwards (Neville hadn't, though, he had simply _known_ Harry wasn't the Heir).

The snake's head jerked around – and it hissed _back_.

Harry smiled, surprisingly, and hissed some more, and the snake hissed back and they seemed to have a right conversation which was odd and frightening at the same time.

"Harry!" Cedric grabbed his shoulder roughly and Harry blinked at him, obviously surprised at the fact that Cedric had his wand drawn and pointing at the snake.

"Oh," he said. "What is it?"

"Don't you know what that is?" Cedric asked urgently. "It's a Black Strangler; they are among the most poisonous snakes." Neville knew only very little about snakes, but every Wizarding child knew the Black Strangler: they were very tiny and their poison killed you within minutes – and supposedly, it was like being strangled. They were also very rare and they had almost gone extinct, as their scales were used in potions – illegal potions, mostly.

"Well, first of all, _it_ is a she and no, I did not know." He seemed somehow insulted and stroked the snake's head; and she opened her mouth, her tongue flickering out and touching his palm.

"Don't!" Cedric yelled. "The poison can be transferred via contact with the skin! Don't… don't touch it, please, Harry." He seemed to be almost pleading with his last sentence.

"Well, she won't bite _me_ ," Harry said pointedly. The snake hissed something and Harry hissed back, scratching her scales when she seemed to reply. "Besides, she just told me that she was bred in captivity and all of her poison has been removed, so she is perfectly harmless."

"Are you sure?" Cedric asked. He hadn't lowered his wand yet and his eyes followed every move of the snake.

"I don't know if you knew, but it is not possible to lie in Parsel," Harry said; and his voice was very cool all of a sudden. "As opposed to what the prejudices claim, snakes never lie."

"No, I didn't know. So you think it's harmless?" Cedric asked and sat back, running his hand through his hair to rearrange it; and Neville noted that he had lowered his wand, but he hadn't put it away yet, but held it between his fingers loosely.

"Do you think I wouldn't have incapacitated her yet, if she were dangerous?"

"Well, you seem to have a… soft spot for dangerous creatures of all kinds," Cedric said; and his voice had become a tad cooler too. Neville wished he were anywhere but here – and suddenly the prospect of Harry and Cedric making out didn't seem so bad, compared to them fighting.

Harry stood up, and there was an expression in his eyes Neville couldn't remember having seen before – and suddenly he could understand why so many students were actually frightened of him. "Remember I am a Parselmouth," he said harshly. "It means I can _make_ snakes do what I want them to do; if I wish to. Do you think I would let her attack anyone?"

"Of course not," Cedric said, "but… anyway, who gave it to you? Maybe they tried… to hurt you?"

"I already told you I didn't know," Harry said harshly, "and if so, they failed. How'd they expect a non-poisonous tiny snake to hurt me in any way?"

"Well, I don't _know_ ," Cedric said, sounding a bit desperate and annoyed at the same time. "I have no idea what is going on your life."

"What does this have to do with my life?" Harry snarled.

"Would that I knew," Cedric said; but then he sighed. "Harry, please, just don't… overreact, okay?"

Harry opened his mouth, but Neville chimed in before he could say anything: "What about breakfast, guys?"

"Good idea," Cedric said after a few seconds whereas Harry just snorted, picked up the snake who wrapped herself around his wrist like a slightly oversized bracelet and stomped up to their dorm. Cedric slumped back into his seat and rubbed his temples. "I fucked up, didn't I?" he murmured.

Neville swallowed – he most certainly wasn't the right candidate for that kind of conversation. "I think Harry really enjoyed your present," he lied – but, fact was, Harry had taken the snake with him, but left Cedric's present on the table. "I just think that… well, maybe a snake is special to him because he is a Parselmouth, you know."

"I somehow forgot about that part," Cedric sighed. Then he narrowed his eyes at Neville. "Do _you_ know who gave it to him?"

"No," Neville said, and this time he wasn't lying. "I don't know. Maybe it was Hagrid's and he just forgot to add a card to the extra box."

"Yes, maybe," Cedric said slowly, but he didn't seem to be convinced.

"Well, anyway I'd better get ready," Neville said, nodding to him and fleeing as fast as he could. Harry was moody now, of course, and didn't say a word to Neville while both showered and dressed; but he did talk to the snake which had curled up on his pillow and he spoke a heating charm over her.

"Hey," Neville said softly before they went back down. "Don't be too hard with Cedric. He's just trying to protect you. He's trying to be a good boyfriend."

Harry looked at him, a sudden sad expression on his face. "I know," he said. "I just wish… well, I think I realized something this morning I should have realized sooner."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Neville asked.

"No, it's just… I'm sorry, Neville, I fear I kind of ruined your Christmas. I don't know what is wrong with me, I'm just so… like on the edge; and I just… well, you are a great friend, Neville, so just be patient with me, okay?"

"You didn't ruin my Christmas," Neville assured him with a grin while they jogged down the stairs. "No matter what you do, it will always be better than that one year Grandma invited _all_ of our relatives – and all of them are really old – and I had to bellow all day long and thank all of them for their horrendous gifts."

Harry snickered. "Somehow I imagine it to be hilarious." His mood had obviously lightened again and he smiled at Cedric who smiled back at him, but Harry didn't take his hand when they walked down to the Great Hall, but stuffed them in his pockets instead and chatted with Neville.

The Christmas breakfast was more than opulent and the Great Hall was filled with laughter and chatter from students and teachers alike and Neville thought he must die from too much food when they were finished. There was a certain tension between Harry and Cedric, which both tried to overplay, but Neville thought it might be a good idea to loosen the situation up a bit by suggesting a snowball fight – as he had thought, Cedric refused, claiming he needed to write some thank-you letters.

Somehow he knew this would not end well.

xXx

Harry never paid much attention to the weather – he wore trainers year round (even when Hermione told him his feet would get wet and he would catch a cold, so he'd better put on boots); and he had neither worn a scarf nor a hat nor gloves when he was a kid. He faintly remembered a teacher complaining about it to Aunt Petunia as he often turned up with his fingers frozen blue at school; but she had claimed Harry kept losing all of his things and she couldn't pay for buying him any more stuff. Harry assumed he must have gotten used to it as he was often cold in winter, but only very rarely the thought of putting on his Gryffindor scarf crossed his mind, despite Hermione regularly scolding him for it. The last time he had worn it had been to Cedric's and his date in Hogsmeade; but only because Hermione had pestered him about it for twenty minutes or so.

He knew Cedric meant well – more than well, actually, but somehow it was not the right thing; and he felt embarrassed because Acromantula silk was so expensive, and he really wished Cedric had just gifted him a normal scarf – or just anything, really.

His thoughts about Cedric were interrupted – and he was ashamed to admit that he was happy about that – by Hagrid walking up to the castle, waving to Harry and Neville who had just begun to build fortresses for an epic snowball battle. "Ye up for a fight in the snow?" he yelled – oh yes, they were.

After a snowball fight with Harry and Neville versus Hagrid, (which they lost most spectacularly), the boys trooped back to the castle, breathless and laughing. Neville, who seemed to have forgotten about his normal shyness, was just loudly complaining about Harry's "lack of enthusiasm and battle spirit" when Harry spotted Cedric standing in the entrance to Hogwarts. Neville broke off abruptly when he followed Harry's glance and saw the smile fade from Harry's face. "Oh," he said quietly. "You want to go and talk to him?"

"I guess so," Harry said, and Neville squeezed his shoulder before Harry broke away from him and walked up to Cedric; pondering about Cedric and him, and what was or was not between them.

It was not like Flint's gift had changed everything, not like it had turned everything, but... it was just one little thing, and yet it was what he had truly wished for; and it made him see clearly. Had made him see that he could not make himself fall in love with Cedric; that he didn't want to lie to Cedric and to himself any longer; and just how much he longed for Flint. It simply wasn't fair to Cedric.

He couldn't keep doing this, he didn't want to hurt him anymore.

"Hey," he said to Cedric, trying to smile, but his mouth wouldn't obey. "Would you like to go for a walk?"

"Yes," Cedric said. He was smiling, but it was a sad smile; and he didn't kiss Harry, or take his hand, but stuffed his hands into his pockets instead. They walked in silence for a while, until they were almost down by the lake. "You're not wearing the scarf I gave to you," Cedric said - it didn't sound reproachful, only sad.

Harry stopped and turned around to look at him. "Cedric, I..." And then he didn't know what to say anymore.

"You're breaking up with me, aren't you?" Cedric asked.

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered, hugging himself - it was cold now that the sun had almost set. "I... you are so kind and loving, and you did so much for me. You have a good heart whereas I... I just... I _wanted_ to be with you, but I just can't. I'm just not in love with you, and I can't make myself to feel the same things for you that you feel for me, and I... I don't want to hurt you. You deserve someone who loves you."

Cedric said nothing for a while. Then he asked, his voice raw: "There is someone else, isn't there?"

Harry stared at him - he couldn't lie, so he nodded. "Yes," he whispered, "but I want you to know that nothing happened between us while I was with you. I'm sorry, I just can't..."

"I know it is Flint," Cedric said quietly.

"Excuse me?" Harry stared at him.

"I know it is Flint," Cedric repeated. "It was him who beat me up after the article, and he told me – no, he _commanded_ me to leave you alone."

Harry was stunned – had Cedric truly known? "I thought you had a loss of memory," he whispered, feeling sudden shame washing over him.

Cedric smiled sadly. "No. But I didn't want to rat him out. I knew you knew; and yet, I thought, I _hoped_ against reason that if I pretended I didn't know, pretended it had never happened, it might make _you_ reconsider, make you forget about him, but I guess it didn't."

"I'm sorry," Harry said, and suddenly he wished he could undo everything because he was so ashamed of himself - he should have hexed Flint, he really should have; he should have told Cedric that he knew, should have asked for his forgiveness, but... he hadn't. "I'm so sorry, Cedric, I... I never wanted him to do that - the very opposite in fact. I never wanted you to get hurt."

"I know all that," Cedric said softly. "I wanted this thing between us to work, so I never said a thing; it's just... I'm really in love with you." That stung - a lot more than it would have if Cedric had gotten angry or had screamed at him - or had just done anything, really. "But I cannot hope to hold you, if... well, if you want him in truth. I don't know what you are seeing in him Harry, but there must be things I don't know about him."

To be honest, Harry didn't really know either, but he knew it was the truth. He wanted to say something else, but he couldn't stop the words coming from his lips: "Have you told anyone?"

Again, Cedric smiled his sad, beautiful smile. "No; and I won't. This is between you and him."

"I'm sorry," Harry said once more. "I didn't mean for it to end like this. But I think both of us have to face reality, don't we?"

"Yes," Cedric said, blinking and swallowing as if trying to bite back tears.

And so they stood, staring at one another. Harry felt like he should say something, _anything_ , but he didn't know what. "About the scarf - I'll give it back to you," he said finally – it must have cost a small fortune.

"No... please don't," Cedric said softly, his voice thick with tears, "it was a gift for you and I want you to keep it."

"Okay," Harry said although he knew he would never - _could_ never - wear it. "Shall... shall we go back then?" he asked awkwardly.

"Can I ask just one thing of you?"

"Yes," Harry said, trying to smile.

"Can we... can I kiss you one last time?"

Harry hesitated, but then he nodded. Cedric took his hands, staring down at their interlaced fingers. It was snowing again; thick, soft flakes falling from the sky. Then Cedric touched his chin carefully, stroking his cheek; and Harry stood on his tiptoes and then they kissed.

It was a sweet, soft kiss, as all of Cedric's kisses were - his eyes were closed, but Harry saw tears glistening on his long, pale eyelashes.

And so it ended as it had begun between them: with a kiss in the snow; only it tasted like tears this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: sniffs Okay, that was quite sad – I didn't want to make it that sad, but somehow it happened… poor Cedric! But you can already look forward to the next chapter, it will not be sad at all. Hehe.  
> Also, I know, the obligatory pet snake for Harry… buuuut I think JK Rowling had such a great idea with Parseltongue, but sadly it was never really used (except for the Basilisk and Nagini) – there could have been SO many cool things, but oh well…


	16. Chapter 16

"You alright?" Neville asked when Harry returned from his walk with Cedric. He had curled up in front of the fireplace, reading the book Harry had gifted him and absent-mindedly stroking Crookshanks.

Harry sighed and slumped into the seat next to him. "I guess I'm not," he said roughly.

Neville closed his book and sat up. "Did you and Cedric fight?"

"No – you can't fight with him," Harry murmured, rubbing his forehead. "He gives in to anything I say anyway. No, we… we broke up – or _I_ broke up with him, rather."

" _Oh_ ," Neville said. He was silent for a few seconds, then he skidded closer and awkwardly placed one hand on Harry's shoulder. "I… I didn't know. I'm sorry."

Harry snorted. "You should rather be sorry for Cedric – I feel like a piece of shit, really."

"Why… may I ask why you broke up? This morning I was under the impression that everything was well between you – until the snake, I guess. But I thought you had a minor fight or something."

"Well, I… I just realized that things are not working out, eventually. I tried so hard; I just… I really wanted to be in a relationship with him, but somehow… I just couldn't. I know, breaking up with him on Christmas was really the worst thing I could do, but… Christmas is hard, y'know."

It was not like Harry did not like Christmas, but he found it to be exhausting – in a way probably no one would understand – he didn't even understand it himself. Sure, Christmas at Hogwarts was wonderful – and would be even better if Ron and Hermione could be with him, as in the last two years – with all the food and the decorations; but he found all the displays of love and friendship and emotional intimacy to be exhausting. He was used to spending Christmas in his cupboard (not that he missed his cupboard, mind you), all alone and in silence, watching the Dursleys celebrate through the slit of the door, and when he had been silent enough, he would even receive some leftovers from their Christmas meal; and he had wished for nothing but being allowed to sit next to the tree, too, in the warm candlelight, and receive gifts; but now, that he actually took part in it, it was wonderful, but also overwhelming and incredibly exhausting; and he didn't know why, but somehow it always put him into a somewhat melancholic mood.

"Is it because of your childhood?" Neville asked carefully. He had never asked about his childhood before – it was well known among the Gryffindors that Harry _hated_ being asked about his childhood.

Harry just shrugged – he was not in the mood to discuss the lonely Christmases he had had as a child. "Dunno," he said, pulling his knees close to his chest. "It's just… I never should've given in to Cedric. I should've known from the beginning it wouldn't hold – I guess I just thought it _should_ work."

Neville was silent for a while, then he said: "Still, you did the right thing. Better to finish now than trying to keep up a lie, isn't it?"

"I _know_ ," Harry said, still he smiled at Neville gratefully – Neville only rarely spoke up, but if he did, he somehow always managed to say the right thing. "I know, but… well, he cried and it's just… ugh." He shivered and closed his eyes. "I've never broken anyone's heart before."

"He might be hurt now, but if it doesn't work, it doesn't and it's better to face the truth than to lie to him… and to yourself," Neville said quietly. "He will get over it, eventually."

"Yeah," Harry said – he didn't think that Cedric would face any problems to find someone else – but just remembering his sad smile made his bad conscience burn. "Yeah, he will. But… I'm sorry, Neville, I know I haven't been a very good companion so far, but I think I'll just walk around the castle for a bit."

Neville smiled at him. "Don't worry, I have your book and I'll go to bed soon. Good night then, Harry."

"Good night," Harry murmured and, with his shoulders hanging, he left the Common Room to roam the castle.

There was something oddly peaceful about Hogwarts at night; the corridors normally filled with laughter and chattering were silent and dark now; the portraits which liked to chat throughout the day were asleep now.

The one thing he loved the most, however, was the fact that he was alone now – mind you, he loved his friends and enjoyed spending his time with them; and joking around with his classmates and the Quidditch team; but sometimes he just felt as if any other person's presence was somehow pressing upon him; and he sometimes needed to be alone; alone with himself and his thoughts. He was so used to years and years of loneliness that he sometimes missed the peace and silence of his cupboard.

That was why he found spending time at the Weasleys so exhausting – he loved the Weasleys, he really did, but there were constantly people around him, talking to him and demanding his attention; and he was just glad when he managed to sneak off for an hour or two to be alone.

He strolled through the corridors for a while, stopping at a window from time to time to look at the night sky; pondering what he should do, now that the card house of lies and wishes he had so carefully constructed around Cedric and himself had broken down.

And now, he didn't want to lie anymore, not even to himself; and so he pulled out the Marauder's Map from his pocket, his eyes searching a certain name… He knew it was wrong, that he shouldn't do it, that it went against the unwritten rules of integrity, to hook up with another man only a few hours after he had dumped his boyfriend, but he couldn't help it.

And there Harry discovered his name, all alone again; with a trained glance Harry checked no teachers were about in the corridors, but he was lucky.

Once again, Flint stood alone in a corridor, arms crossed and scowling at the night sky as if the stars were somehow at fault for whatever bothered him.

"Hey," Harry said quietly as Flint must have been deep enough in thought not to hear him.

He turned around, scowling at Harry. "What do you want, Potter?" he asked harshly.

Harry raised his chin – for some reason he had expected Flint to be nice, but of course that was absurd – he must have gotten used to it when being with Cedric. "I wanted to thank you for your gift," he said.

"How would you know it was mine?"

"Who else might it be from?" Harry asked – and it was true, there was no one else who might have sent it to him. "I like her – having a snake is amazing."

Flint's scowl softened a bit. "No bites yet?"

"Of course not," Harry said, "I _am_ a Parselmouth, after all."

There was a short, uncomfortable silence, then Flint asked harshly: "Was there anything else, Potter?"

"I broke up with Cedric," Harry said – and an odd expression flashed over Flint's face.

"So," he said, straightening up to his full height, "who's next on your list then?"

"You," Harry said; and after one breathless moment, Flint had grabbed him around the waist and pulled him close and kissed him so forcefully Harry almost toppled over backwards, were it not for Flint's strong hand on the small of his back that held him pressed up close against his own body. Harry moaned into the kiss; he had almost forgotten over all the sweet, innocent kisses how amazing Flint's wild, hungry kisses felt; more of an attack than a kiss, really, but Harry loved it – it made him feel desired in a way he had never felt with Cedric; and it blew all thoughts of Cedric out of his mind.

Harry didn't know for how long they kissed; but it seemed to last for ages; and when Flint let go of him, he was breathing heavily and he felt as if he were drunk. That was the way a kiss had to feel, he thought.

He wanted to bury his face against Flint's chest, but he grabbed Harry's chin and forced him to look into his dark eyes.

"Who's next on your list, after me?" he asked, his voice harsh.

"No one," Harry breathed, "no one but you."

Flint smiled - well, probably only he would call it a smile - it was more of a baring of teeth; and he placed his large hand in Harry's neck now, his thumb stroking along Harry's cheek. "That's the way I want it," he breathed against Harry's lips; and then they kissed again.

This kiss seemed to last even longer and turned heavier soon enough; with Harry unbuttoning Flint's shirt with clumsy fingers and loosening his tie, marvelling in the feel of his hot, smooth skin and the hard muscles underneath; and Flint simply tearing his shirt apart, exposing his chest to cool air; and then he started kissing along Harry's throat; short, soft kisses along his jaw and down to his clavicles; but these kisses changed soon enough, and now Flint was biting and sucking and licking and Harry moaned; it felt incredibly good, and he probably would have crumbled to the ground with bliss, weren't it for Flint pressing him against a wall, his wrists pinned securely against rough stone.

"Don't stop," he breathed.

"I won't," Flint promised, his breath hot against Harry's skin, goose-bumps all over his laid-bare chest; and then he kissed his way downwards, starting from Harry's clavicles, following an invisible line down his sternum to his belly button and trailing the thin line of dark hair down to his pants. His fingers stroked over Harry's hipbones; and Harry shivered when Flint pressed his hand down on the bulge in his trousers. He knew what Flint wanted; and he knew what he wanted; and so he impatiently fumbled for his wand, not caring that they were in public, not caring that any moment a teacher could walk in on them; he felt as if he were in a dream; a dream where no one but Flint and him made any matter.

But Flint caught his wrist. "No," he said, and there was something unreadable in his eyes. "No. This time I will do it right. This time, I will take you to my bed."

Harry didn't know how they made it down to the dungeons; he only knew they stopped over and over again, kissing, Flint pressing him into a wall or holding him so tight in his arms it almost hurt; their lips seeking and finding each other's mouths, shaky fingers on heated skin, slick with sweat; and Harry forgetting everything around him.

But, somehow, they had made it down to the Common Room and as Flint was the only Slytherin staying at Hogwarts, Harry stumbled after Flint leading him up to his dorm. The other beds were empty, the curtains open; and Harry hastily climbed onto the bed, his cloak pooling at the end of the bed, and Flint pressed him down into the cushions with a hand on his chest before closing the curtains around the bed.

Harry shrugged off his shirt (it was ripped anyway, so unbuttoning had no use) and wanted to take off his trousers, but once again, Flint held him back. "No," he said. "I will do it." There was something in his voice that made Harry shiver; shiver with want and anticipation. Harry had thought Flint would rip off his trousers as he had ripped off his shirt; but he didn't, instead he unbuttoned and unzipped his pants with agonizing slowness, pulling his pants and boxers down carefully; and once more, his hands rested on Harry's hips; and for a moment Harry marvelled at the fact that Flint's hands fit around his hips so perfectly, his thumb resting in the dip between his hip bones and his abs; almost as if they were made for one another. He moaned and let his head fall back when Flint kissed the inside of his thighs; and he gave a quiet whimper when he could feel Flint's hot breath on the overly-sensitive skin of his by now painful erection. In another world, in another time, Flint probably would have grinned and teased him, but his face was incredibly serious when he closed his lips around Harry's cock.

Harry moaned in bliss, his fingers curling into the mattress, when Flint moved his head up and down, sucking and licking, pressing his bucking hips down onto the mattress. "Stop," Harry said although he didn't want Flint to stop; but he knew, if Flint didn't stop now, Harry would come - and he didn't want to - well, he _wanted_ to, but not yet. Flint looked at him questioningly, and Harry pulled him up so Flint lay on top of him, his body deliciously hot and heavy; and he caught Flint's lips in another intoxicating kiss. Then he pressed his hands against Flint's shoulders, motioning for him to roll around; and he did, pulling Harry with him.

Now it was Harry's turn to take off his clothes - he was not as patient, however, as he hastily unbuttoned Flint's shirt with clumsy fingers, marvelling at how smooth his skin was, and how hard the muscles underneath; and then he took off his boxers and pants; and he couldn't help but shiver with desire at the sight of Flint naked; his strong muscular arms; his broad shoulders; his face, that was always scowling, but looked so different now, with his strong jaw and dark eyes that were filled with lust; and the breath-taking V of his abs down to his erection, red and throbbing and glistening with pre-cum. "I want you," he breathed; and something in Flint's eyes flashed when he grabbed Harry by the waist.

Harry had expected him to flip him onto his stomach, but instead, Flint lay down on his back and lifted Harry on his lap. He pulled Harry down for a deep kiss; and Harry could feel from the way his body shifted that he was reaching for his wand and when their kiss ended, he murmured against Harry's lips: “Ready?”

“Yes,” Harry whispered, “yes, yes, yes.” And Flint kissed him again, this time even more passionate; and Harry moaned into the kiss, but he held his breath for a second when he felt Flint's hand stroke the inside of his thigh, and then his bum, a brush as soft as a feather, and then his finger slipped inside him - again, it felt weird and eerie, but also amazing in a way words could not describe.

“Alright?” Flint murmured, touching his forehead lightly, and a very tiny part of Harry thought that it was almost cute - although Flint wouldn't want to hear that, of course.

“'M fine,” he murmured, moving his hips the slightest bit to reassure Flint that yes, he was okay; and they kissed again; and Flint's mouth wandered down his throat, sucking and biting lightly, and licking and kissing sensitive skin; and soon enough, Flint had him writhing and begging him to stop and to fuck him, now.

Harry had expected him to grin, but his face still held a very serious expression when he lifted him up; and Harry shivered violently when he could feel the tip of his cock at his entrance; he wanted him, now, and he couldn't hold himself back any longer, so he lowered himself very slowly, inhaling sharply at the pain, but it also felt amazing, exhilarating even; and Flint moaned deeply; his hands at Harry's hips trembling slightly.

And then, Harry felt like in a dream; a dream that consisted of a thousand things happening at the same time; him moving up and down with agonizing slowness, savouring every second, and Flint supporting his weight, with his large hands so warm and firm on his hips; him moaning and gasping and trembling; and his fingernails digging into Flint's forearms; and Flint breathing heavily, his eyes closed, but now he opened them and caught Harry's gaze; and the world tumbling around him in rocking movements; and Flint's stomach tensing when he came; and him screaming hoarsely, when he came, too.

The dream never seemed to end when Flint pulled him into strong arms and Harry lay on his broad, warm chest, his face nuzzled into the crook of Flint's neck; and Flint cleaned them both with a murmured spell and pulled the blanket over them; and Harry marvelled at the warmth and the intimacy of their position, it felt so good to be so close to him; and with a sigh, he closed his eyes, feeling exhausted, but also happier than he had been for the longest time.

xXx

The next morning, Harry awoke in bliss; he was enveloped in comfortable warmth, his head resting half on the pillow, half on Flint's biceps; and Flint's other arm was wrapped around his waist, his hand resting on his stomach; and when he tried to wriggle free a bit, Flint grunted in his sleep and pulled him closer again.

Harry grinned and decided to check how far he could go before Flint woke up: millimetre for millimetre, he shifted in Flint's embrace until they lay face to face. Flint's ever present scowl was softened down in his sleep and his broad chest rose with every deep breath; and he looked oddly peaceful.

Harry decided to have a glass of water, and very carefully once more, he slipped out of Flint's grip and sat on the mattress. He was just reaching for the jug of water when a large hand grabbed him from behind and pulled him back.

“What makes you think I'd let you leave?” Flint growled; not looking peaceful anymore at all.

“I was not about to leave,” Harry said, “I was only thirsty.” Flint gave a non-committal grunt and watched with hawk-eyes while Harry poured himself a glass of water and gulped it down; and as soon as he had placed the glass back on the nightstand, Flint pulled him back, Harry's back pressed close to his chest.

“Wanted to apologize,” Flint said then, his voice rough and his breath brushing along Harry's neck which was oddly alluring; and Harry felt a spark of arousal rise in his chest. “Should've told you 'bout the Goblet, before we fucked. Shouldn't have fucked you on Snape's desk either.”

Harry wriggled a bit in his grip, craning his neck so he could look at Flint's unusually serious face. “I'm not mad at you anymore,” he said softly. “I guess I shouldn't have asked you to, either.” Flint gave a grunt and pressed Harry back onto the pillow, with considerably less force than he was able to, though.

“Now that we've cleared that up, go back to sleep. It is too bloody early to get up.” Harry snickered and curled himself up against Flint's warm body. “You're not a morning person, are you?”

“Stop fucking talking,” Flint grunted, “you're supposed to sleep.” Harry grinned to himself, but he obediently kept quiet and soon enough he heard how Flint's breath evened out and his arm around Harry's waist went a bit slack - not so much that he let go of him, but just so much he could turn around in Flint's embrace. He had no intention of sleeping, however, he was wide awake; and he would make sure that Flint didn't sleep anymore either.

With a grin, he pressed a light kiss to Flint's throat - Flint shifted a bit in his sleep, but he did not wake. Grinning even wider, he kissed his way down Flint's torso, letting his fingers trail over well-defined muscles; and soon enough, Flint was groaning, his breath heavy now, but his eyes were still closed. Mischievously, Harry grinned at Flint's sleeping figure - his body didn’t seem to object to what Harry was doing, seeing that his cock had sprung to full attention. With a snicker, Harry gave the tip of his cock a kiss, when Flint awoke with a gasp.

“What the fuck are you doing, Potter?” he snarled, sitting up a bit.

“I couldn't sleep anymore,” Harry said sweetly, “would you like for me to stop?” Flint slumped back onto the bad, rubbing his face.

“Merlin, Potter, you are exhausting.” But he didn't seem intent on sleep anymore, now, as he pulled Harry down to give him a passionate kiss, but then he shoved him downwards. “You'd better finish what you started,” he growled. Harry grinned and knelt between Flint's thighs. He liked more than he cared to admit when Flint was so blunt. And he liked the sounds Flint made when he sucked his cock, his lips on hot smooth skin, and the heavy, throbbing cock on his tongue; the way he moaned so deeply; and the growling sounds he made low in his throat.

Just when he felt that Flint was about to come, his hand digging into his hair and his thighs tensing, he stopped; grinning at Flint's scowl. “I told you to finish,” he snarled, but the sharpness in his voice was softened by the way his thumbs stroked over Harry's thighs.

“I want you to fuck me,” Harry said, his voice trembling with arousal; and he rocked his hips against Flint's which elicited a moan from him.

“Are you not sore?” he asked, his voice heavy with lust and rough with something that resembled concern.

“Just a little bit,” Harry lied - he was more than a bit sore, but he wanted Flint, _now_.

“I don't want to hurt you,” Flint said. “I hurt you, before the First Task; and I hurt you last night and I...” he trailed off, his jaw clenching.

“You won't hurt me,” Harry promised although he knew that was not true; “please, please, I want you.” He rocked his hips once more and Flint squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them again, his face was dark and serious.

“You will be my downfall, Potter, I am sure of that,” he said. “But as you wish; but I will be careful and slow, alright?”

“Yes,” Harry breathed, pulling him into a kiss; trailing kisses over Flint's throat and his torso; and he heard Flint murmur a spell; and then Flint's hand cupped his bum, and then he could feel his finger - he hissed with pain and Flint immediately stopped, eying him with concern.

“You alright?” he asked. “I don't want to hurt you.”

“You're not,” Harry murmured, kissing his throat and neck and shoulders, “please, please, keep going.” Flint frowned at him, but continued; and Harry bit his lip so he would not make a sound; and then Flint touched that particular spot inside him and he arched his back, unable to hold back a whimper of arousal, begging Flint to get on with it; and exhaling deeply when Flint removed his fingers and placed his hands on his hips.

“You sure?” Flint asked; and Harry nodded, scrambling upwards until he was placed exactly over Flint's cock; and before Flint could even say a word, he lowered himself quickly, gasping with pain, but it was only for the shortest moment because then the indescribable feeling of Flint being inside him overrode any pain, and he moaned loudly.

“Gods, Potter,” Flint said roughly, his voice trembling with desire, “this was not the way you were meant to do it. I wanted to be slow and careful, remember?”

“Fuck slow and careful,” Harry said; moving upwards quickly and slamming down again, moaning loudly - oh _God_ , he never wanted it to stop; and with a whimper he rose again, this time moaning even louder when he could feel that Flint was all inside him; and Flint seemed to have forgotten everything about being careful as his fingers dug into Harry's hips and he lifted him up and shoved him down roughly, moaning deeply; and Harry arched his back, his eyes squeezed shut, trembling; every fibre of his being burning with his desire; and oh, please... this time, he screamed, all of his muscles clenching and stars dancing before his eyes and he almost sobbed when he could feel Flint coming inside him, his cock throbbing and his jaw set so fiercely and that expression of arousal on his face; and then he slumped on top of him; exhausted and worn out, but feeling exhilarated.

“Potter,” Flint groaned when Harry caught him in a lazy kiss, stop doing those things to me. “You are...”

“Yes?” Harry asked, shivering slightly with satisfaction and exhaustion when Flint caught him in an even tighter embrace and kissed his throat and collar bones.

“Nevermind,” Flint said, his voice rough; and he kissed Harry again with so much passion Harry forgot he had ever wanted to say something.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: None of this is mine; everything belongs to the great Joanne K. Rowling.  
> A/N: Cheers to the Neville-fans! I hope you all enjoy this chapter!

Neville hadn’t asked Harry even once where he went during the night – firstly, he didn’t want to intrude in Harry’s private matters; secondly, he was not stupid and he knew that Harry obviously had a new boyfriend or had somehow gotten back with Cedric – but if it wasn’t Cedric, he hadn’t been able to discern the most likely candidate yet; and thirdly, he enjoyed the nights alone in his dorm.

So, this morning he only gave Harry’s bed an absent-minded glance when he peeked out between his curtains to look for his slippers, but he froze when he saw that the curtains were only half-closed. And, he noted, there was someone in the bed who was most definitely _not_ Harry.

Gulping, he pondered what to do – he wanted to get up, but he didn’t want Harry to know that he had been discovered – _but_ he also really wanted to know who lay in Harry’s bed – and curiosity won over caution this time. Very slowly, he tip-toed over to Harry’s bed to inspect its inhabitants – Neville thought he must faint when he saw them, though: Harry lay, very obviously naked, as he was sprawled half above, half beneath the covers, in the muscular arms of an equally naked _Marcus Flint_.

Harry’s back was pressed against his broad chest, and his head rested on Flint’s arm; Flint’s other arm was wrapped around Harry’s waist, with his hand casually resting only inches from Harry’s crotch.

Again, Neville gulped.

 _Flint_. Marcus Flint. He hadn’t even made it on Neville’s list of guys-whose-beds-Harry-might-frequent. But, he thought, in a very unexpected way it made sense because Flint was everything Cedric _wasn’t_. And it didn’t look like Harry lay in his arms unwillingly – the very opposite, in fact.

In that very moment, Flint stirred and Neville jumped about a foot in the air with panic, but he only grunted in his sleep and pulled Harry closer to his chest.

When his frantic breathing had calmed down, only one question was on Neville’s mind: What was he supposed to do now?

Flint mustn’t discover him, that much was clear – if Flint did, it would not end well, oh no; and Harry better should not know that he had been discovered, either. So he quickly climbed back into his bed, pulling the curtains close and pretending he hadn’t been out of bed yet.

He didn’t have to pretend for long, however, as he heard sleepy murmurs only a few minutes later; and then there was a rustle of bedcovers and something that sounded very much like a kiss.

Neville squeezed his eyes shut and pretended not to hear anything, but that was _hard_. And then he heard Harry’s voice, loud and clear: “Oh fuck, the curtains aren’t closed.”

Flint replied something Neville couldn’t hear, but Harry laughed and then said: “No, it was _your_ fault; remember how you couldn’t hold yourself back and told me there was no time for such things? ‘M gonna check if Neville’s still asleep.”

Neville hastily tried to relax and breathe deeply – _Flint would kill him_ – and there was a trickle of light tickling his nose – _do not sneeze_ – when Harry peeked in between the curtains – _sweet Merlin, do NOT sneeze_.

“He’s still asleep,” Harry said quietly, “luckily he’s a deep sleeper.”

“Good,” Flint said in low voice and Neville breathed in relief, “now come back.” There was a smack of skin on skin and Harry’s laugh; and then, there was the hasty rustle of bedclothes and the sound of passionate kissing.

 _Oh no_. Again, Neville gulped. Surely they wouldn’t… surely they would put up a Silencio… surely they would not have sex now. But, as turned out, they would indeed; and Neville gritted his teeth and pressed his hands on his ears and tried not to listen. But it was impossible _not_ to hear them kissing; Harry laughing a quiet, tender laugh Neville had never heard before; Harry moaning throatily and Flint groaning deeply; and that unmistakeable sound of skin slapping on skin; and Neville was writhing in his bed, he simply should have left the dorm when he could, should have accepted Flint’s (and Harry’s) wrath – surely it couldn’t have been _worse_. _Nothing_ could have been worse. Anything Professor Snape had ever said or done paled in comparison to _this_.

Finally, the sounds quieted and Neville exhaled in relief, surely it was over now. Currently, there were only quiet murmurs, but they turned into heavy kissing again – it seemed like they were up for a second round.

Resigned, Neville closed his eyes, but he froze when he heard Flint growl: “No, wanna fuck you in the showers; I’ve dreamed of fucking you in the Gryffindor showers for ages”; and Harry’s breathless laugh and hasty steps towards the bathroom.

At least the running shower drowned out most of the noise but _not_ the way Harry screamed in ecstasy; and Neville squirmed in his bed and desperately tried to think of anything else, but not even reciting all magical carnivorous plants in his head did any good.

He wished he could leave, but he could not because then they would know that they had been heard and _then_ , Flint would kill him. He shuddered at the thought.

After what seemed like ages, they re-emerged from the bathroom and this time, they did dress, thankfully, if Neville interpreted the rustle of cloth correctly, but there was another agonizingly long kiss before Harry’s light and Flint’s heavy steps moved down the stairs.

Thank Merlin, salvation had finally come.

He breathed in relief and waited and for another ten minutes, just to be sure, before finally emerging from his bed. He didn’t know (and he didn’t want to know) which shower Harry and Flint had used, but, just to make sure, he used the one that was farthest from the door, trying not to think about what had happened here only a few minutes ago.

The whole day he could not stop thinking about the events of this morning; and he couldn’t stop watching Harry and Flint, wondering what could possibly make Harry fall for the vile Slytherin. Flint looked as gloomy as ever, glaring at everyone who came too close, but now Neville noted how Flint watched Harry with hawk-eyes as if to make sure nothing happened to him; and he also noted that Harry’s eyes were unusually bright; and he noted the hint of a smile on Harry’s face and the slight spring in his step.

Obviously, there must be things about Flint Neville didn’t know.

xXx

 “Hey Harry, what are you going to do on New Year’s Eve?”

Harry looked up at Neville in surprise. “What do you mean?” he asked. “I thought we were going to spend the evening together. I already organized some butterbeer and Ron told me where Fred and George hide their firewhiskey – and they sent me a few fireworks for tomorrow.”

Neville looked at him oddly (he had done so all day, in fact) and it seemed as if he was about to say something he desperately didn’t want to say. “Well,” he said after a few moments of silence, “that’s really nice of you, but I assumed you wanted to spend the evening with your, er, boyfriend.”

Harry blinked. “Boyfriend? You do know that Cedric and I –”

“I _know_ you are not with Cedric anymore, Harry” Neville said softly. “I was talking about your _new_ boyfriend.”

“I don’t have one,” Harry said hastily – surely Neville hadn’t noticed anything about Flint and him?

“Harry,” Neville said quietly and his face was very serious now, “I _know_. I, um, I didn’t mean to, but I saw you. Him and you, I mean. ‘Sides I’m not stupid – you spent almost every night somewhere else – where would you, if not with him?”

Harry froze in shock. Neville had _seen_ Flint and him? “When?” he asked, more harshly than he had intended to.

Neville blushed, squirming in his seat uncomfortably. “I, um… yesterday in the morning, actually. Your curtains weren’t closed and I saw him in your bed and I… well.” He gulped audibly.

After a few moments of hard thinking, Harry had to admit to himself that there was no way he could talk himself out of the situation. “I thought you had still been asleep,” he said somewhat lamely.

“Well, I wasn’t. But I was afraid Flint would kill me if he knew I was awake so I pretended to be asleep.”

Neville might have a point there, Harry had to admit – Flint might’ve tried. Then, with a slight time lag, a very shocking revelation hit him. “But we, um, had…”

“I tried not to listen,” Neville mumbled, blushing fiercely; and Harry thought he must die of embarrassment.

“But… the Silencio…” he said weakly.

“It must’ve faded,” Neville said awkwardly. “Happened to me before, too.”

Harry buried his face in his hands. He – they had been _loud_. Cringing, he remembered what he had said and what Flint had said; and how he had moaned and… “Oh Merlin,” he groaned.

“Don’t worry,” Neville said, awkwardly clearing his throat. “I won’t tell anyone. And I’ll try to forget. Really. I’m already trying all the time.”

There was embarrassed silence for a while, both of them trying not to look at each other, until Neville suddenly blurted: “Why Flint, Harry?”

Harry flinched at the question. “I don’t know,” he said quietly. “I really don’t. I wish I knew, but I… I just fell for him. Really hard. I mean, it’s not like I’m in love with him – _not at all_ – but we just cannot stop… ahem.” He cleared his throat.

“You had an… _affair_ with him before you got together with Cedric, didn’t you?” Neville asked. “That’s why you were so secretive, wasn’t it? And… you had… well, whatever you did with him, but you were with him the night before the First Task, weren’t you?” Neville’s voice was soft, but his gaze was unwavering.

Harry writhed in his seat. “How d’you know?” he asked, somewhat lamely.

“It was not that hard to guess,” Neville said. “I mean, it didn’t make sense back then, but now it does.”

Denial was futile. “Well, yes,” Harry admitted, “everything you said is true.” And suddenly he had the absurd urge to tell someone – well, he had been burning to tell this someone for quite a while now, but there had never been an appropriate moment – now was not appropriate either, but to hell with it. “I lost my virginity to him on Snape’s desk,” he blurted, and then he started laughing uncontrollably.

Neville’s jaw dropped and he stared at Harry, paling dramatically. “What?”

“It’s true,” Harry said; and still he couldn’t stop laughing. “Stupidest thing I’ve ever done – with flying the next day and stuff, y’know; and on top of it I fell asleep on Snape’s desk naked and Flint had to carry me to his bed.”

From what Neville looked like Harry might as well have told him he had had a lovely tea party with Voldemort, but after a while he gathered himself and then he burst out laughing, too. “Really?” he asked after a while between gasps of laughter.

“Really,” Harry confirmed.

Once more, Neville started laughing. “I’m glad Snape didn’t find you, but I would have _loved_ to see his face if he did.”

Harry grimaced. “It would’ve been a glorious sight, but I wouldn’t be sitting here, if he had actually found me.”

“Probably not,” Neville admitted. He was still giggling, but seriousness slowly returned to his expression. “So… what is it between you and Flint?”

“Currently, we only have sex,” Harry said lightly.

Neville’s face was very red from laughing so hard, but if possible, it got even redder now. “Well, um… I mean I’m not an expert in that kind of thing, but it didn’t look like only sex to me… well, I did _not_ see you, of course, but the way he held you in his arms seemed like… well, _more_.” He coughed awkwardly.

“It is not more,” Harry said firmly.

Neville frowned at that. “But it could be more? In the future?”

Harry flinched. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I don’t know if I want to… he does not seem to be the type for a relationship, y’know? He’s not… exactly romantic.”

“I think carrying you to his bed so Snape wouldn’t find you is a lot more romantic than what Cedric – no offense to him – has ever done for you,” Neville said.

“Yes, well, maybe…” Harry squirmed in his seat uncomfortably. “Still, he’s… well, he can be nasty.” He looked down on his hands, remembering what Flint had confessed, and the way he had lied to him – but he _had_ told him the truth and he _had_ apologized, after all.

“He didn’t hurt you, though?” Neville asked; and suddenly, his eyes were hard.

“Not physically, no,” Harry said. “I know he never would. But… ugh, I can’t say it, but he did something terrible – not _terrible_ , per se, but… well, it’s difficult.”

“I never imagined it would be easy with him,” Neville said drily. “But, what do you think? Say he would want a relationship with you – would you want one?”

“I don’t know,” Harry said, pulling his knees to his chest and hugging them tightly. “I just don’t know. It’s complicated – now it’s easy when the other students aren’t in the castle, but when the holidays are over it will be a lot harder. I just… I just wish I knew what I wanted,” he finished in a small voice.

Neville placed a hand on his shoulder. “You’ll work it out, eventually. I wish you only the best. But, Harry… be careful.”

“I will,” Harry promised – as if Neville needed to tell him. Neither of them spoke for a few seconds, then Harry asked: “Well, I will ask him about New Year’s Eve. What are you going to do, anyway?”

“We’ll spend the evening with the Lovegoods,” Neville explained. “Do you know them?”

Harry shrugged – he vaguely remembered the name. “They live next to the Weasleys, don’t they?”

“Ah, so you don’t,” Neville said. “I mean, yes, they live next to the Weasley, but you don’t know them, do you? Their daughter, Luna, is a Third Year. She sometimes hangs out with Ginny.”

Harry shrugged – he paid very little attention to what Ginny did, apart from awkward greetings that made her look like she was about to start crying any moment. “Maybe.”

“She has very long blond hair and wears radish earrings,” Neville said.

Harry shrugged once more – like he knew what kind of earrings people wore!

“Anyway, she’s very kind, if a bit weird, but I’ll present you to each other after the holidays. I have no idea why my grandmother is friends with them – Grandma is the strictest and most conservative person I know and the Lovegoods are anything but – but somehow she seems to have a soft spot for Luna and her father – her mother died a few years ago, and ever since then we spent New Year’s Eve at their house. It’s crazy – last year all of us had to walk around the attic naked, singing a song about ghouls because apparently that brings luck for new years that end with a four; but for some reason, Grandma _loves_ it.”

“Oh,” Harry said – the Lovegoods sounded like a very intriguing family indeed. “Well, have fun then.”

“You can always come with me in case Flint doesn’t… y’know,” Neville offered kindly. “You were saying something about butterbeer earlier, though?”

xXx

“What’re you going to do on New Year’s Eve?” Harry asked as casually as possible when he lay in Flint’s arms, warm and satisfyingly tired. Flint was stroking along his collarbone, his touch no more than a brush as light as a gust of air, but still oddly pleasing.

He only shrugged at Harry’s question, not lifting his gaze. “Dunno. Nothing. Sleep.”

“Would you like… to spend New Year’s Eve with me?” Harry asked, his voice trembling the slightest bit. It was weird – he had had more sex than he had ever imagined was possible in these few days with Flint without hesitating; but now he felt nervous – because this was almost like a _date_ – which made no sense whatsoever and Harry knew that this was not the way a relationship usually went, but everything was messed up anyway and he didn’t even know if he wanted to have a relationship with Flint – but somehow, it didn’t seem impossible anymore.

Now, Flint did lift his eyes, his gaze fixed on Harry’s face. “Would you like to spend it with _me_?” he asked back, his voice rough.

“Yes,” Harry said, suddenly sure when he hadn’t known before.

“Well, then,” Flint said. “Here or in your dorm?”

“Actually…” Harry hesitated – Flint wanted to have sex, of course (hardly any news there, he wanted to have sex with Harry _all the time_ ); and suddenly he was doubtful again, but he decided to go for it. “I thought of a little trip,” he said. “Something… special. A Muggle thing.”

“A Muggle thing?” Flint repeated, frowning. “They celebrate New Year’s Eve, too?”

“Well, of course,” Harry said, somewhat taken aback. “There are celebrations all over the world and you can watch on TV what is going on in other countries – oh right, you don’t know what a TV is.”

Suddenly, he was frustrated and he removed Flint’s hand from his neck, sitting up. “Forget about it. It was a stupid idea. Yes, I’ll come down to your dorm tomorrow and we’ll have sex all night long.”

He sniffed and stood up, grabbing for his trousers and putting them on. Flint watched him silently while he dressed hastily, buttoning up his shirt with clumsy fingers, but he spoke up when Harry wanted to leave. “Potter,” he said, his voice soft and deep. “Don’t leave.”

“I need to get back to my dorm,” Harry said. “Neville’s getting suspicious of me.” He did not mention that Neville was, in fact, not only suspicious but that he had correctly guessed what was going on – in hindsight, it had not been that hard to guess that Harry had spent the last nights in another man’s bed, though, he had to admit to himself.

“I want you to stay here,” Flint said, his voice sharp all of a sudden.

Harry narrowed his eyes at him. “You have no right to tell me what to do, _Flint_.” With that, he whirled around and stormed off before Flint could even get out of bed. He ran up to the Gryffindor Tower, arriving out of breath and swallowing heavily – he had been stupid. All of it had been a stupid idea.

This might’ve worked with Cedric because Cedric was cute and romantic and he was actually in love with Harry – but _Flint_ , he only wanted to fuck Harry and he was most certainly not in love with him – well, neither was Harry, so that was okay. It was alright.

He wished Neville a good night and went to bed – with a bit of a bad conscience. Neville and he were the only Gryffindors and he really should spend more time with Neville, but somehow all of his time was eaten up by having sex with Flint and lying in Flint’s bed, in his warm and strong arms and… _ugh_. Harry swallowed again – he would not spend his nights in Flint’s bed anymore, he decided.

The sex was all well and good (a lot more than good, actually), but staying after? No matter how nice it felt to fall asleep in Flint’s arms, it didn’t fit with their fucking-only-relationship. And having anything more than sex would be stupid – he should really get that thought of his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Haha, poor Neville! I hope you liked this chapter, please let me know what you think about this chapter!


	18. Chapter 18

“Athena.”

“No.”

“Morgana.”

“No.”

“Cassandra.”

“No.”

Harry threw his hands up in defiance. “What do you want then?” He was getting along very well with his snake – he enjoyed her company a lot; she was witty and un-human in a very charming way, _and_ she was not as cryptic as Hades. She spent most of the day either on the window-sill next to Harry’s bed on a cushion with warming-charms, or wrapped around Harry’s forearm like a slightly oversized bracelet.

Now, however, they had come upon a problem: Harry wanted to name his snake, simply because it felt weird to call her “snake”. “I am a snake, there is no reason why you should name me something else,” she said, slithering into a more comfortable position on his thighs.

“But this is weird,” Harry replied, “you are not just any snake, you are…,” he didn’t want to say “my snake” because it was not like she could be his possession, “you are special,” he finished.

“All snakes are the same,” she said. “All snakes are born from eggs and all snakes live and all snakes must die one day.  Just as all humans are born from another human and all humans live and all humans must die one day.”

“But I am a Parselmouth, for example,” Harry said, “that makes me different from other humans. And you live with a human and that makes you different from other snakes.”

“It does not,” she said. “But if you wish to name me something else, so be it. But the name shall not deny who I am.”

Harry sighed and scratched her scales, the way he knew she liked it, pondering about what she had said. She was right; he couldn’t just randomly pick a name as he had for Hedwig, but it should be something that described her in a way. He thought and thought and desperately tried to come up with a name, thinking of famous witches and Muggles and Greek and Roman gods and star constellations, but somehow, nothing fit.

Then, he knew. “Netha,” he said, drawing the “th” into a long hiss – it was Parsel for “the clever one”.

Her tongue slipped out of her mouth when she tasted the sound of the name in the air. “I like it,” she announced and Harry smiled.

xXx

Neville had already left in the afternoon (apparently the Lovegoods claimed that one had to eat a whole pineapple (which symbolized the sun) six hours before midnight on New Year’s Eve for reasons that had not been understandable to Harry), wishing Harry a nice evening (with a wink that made him blush) and disappearing in the fireplace in a cloud of ash and green flames.

Harry decided to do what he always did when he was in a bad mood: go for a fly. He grabbed his broom and kicked off from the window and only when he had raced down to the Quidditch field he realized that it had not been a clever idea to go flying only in trousers and a jumper, but he didn’t want to be reasonable and go back and put on warm clothes, so he buzzed about the Quidditch field and began training the Wronski Feint once more.

He was actually getting quite good at it and all thoughts of Flint were blown from his mind when the cold wind rushed along his face and ripped on his clothes with icy fingers. And whenever he was flying (and he meant _real_ flying, as fast as his Firebolt could race, and diving down and pulling up in the very last moment) he was caught up in a rush of adrenaline and speed; and so he only realized very belatedly that someone else was down on the Quidditch field – when this person flew directly before him, in fact.

He stopped mid-air, gasping and his breath coming out of his mouth in white puffs, the cold air burning in his lungs. It was Flint, of course, who scowled at him. “What do you think what you are doing?” he asked harshly.

Harry scowled right back at him. “Am I late?” he asked, only half-managing to sound unemotional when his teeth were chattering noisily. “I was not aware we had agreed on a time.”

“We haven’t,” Flint said, “but it is nine pm. And –”

“Well, then I’d better get ready for you to fuck me,” Harry said, rubbing his palms together. Now that he was not caught up in his adrenaline rush anymore he realized how _cold_ he was.

Flint grabbed his sweater. “Stop playing the bitch, Potter. You must have been flying for hours now – in nothing but pants and a jumper. Did someone fuck up your brain? You will fucking die from cold when you don’t get inside now.”

“Oh,” Harry said, looking down himself. There were tiny crystals of ice on his clothes and his hands were blue with cold and he couldn’t feel his feet anymore. “I didn’t realize.”

Flint snorted. “Come down then. We’re gonna get you into the showers.”

He actually had to help Harry getting undressed as his fingers were so cold and clumsy he could not even unbutton his pants; and then his legs almost gave in underneath him when he tried to walk into the showers; but Flint had grabbed him by the waist and half-carried him into the showers, seating him on the floor rather unceremoniously.

Harry’s teeth chattered violently and he hugged his knees – it was a lot warmer in the showers than outside, but he was freezing from the _inside_ and then Flint sprayed him with water that felt so hot it almost burned his skin. Harry yelled in shock and pain and wanted to scramble to his feet, but once more Flint held him in place. “Don’t be a pussy, Potter,” he said, “this is the coldest water that will come out of the shower.”

It didn’t _feel_ like it, though, but the chill inside him left very slowly when he could feel his hands and feet thawing and life coming back into his numb limbs – well, Flint was rubbing his arms and legs almost violently, his hands burning even hotter than the water on his skin. Unlike Harry, he was still dressed; and his clothes were soaked by now, but he didn’t seem to feel the cold as his skin was as warm as ever when Harry wrapped his arms around his strong neck.

The water was warmer now and now that the chill had left, the warmth was slowly returning to his limbs; and with it, a different kind of warmth. “What’s that supposed t’be?” Flint growled when Harry unbuttoned his shirt – his fingers were still clumsy, but not _that_ clumsy anymore.

“What does it look like?” Harry breathed against his lips, and he slipped onto his lap and pulled him into a deep kiss.

He didn’t know how it happened but within what seemed like seconds Flint was naked and standing and Harry was pressed against his chest, his legs wrapped around Flint’s waist; and then – like in a dream – he was floating, held only by Flint’s strong hands on his waist, and his burning kisses on his torso; and his feet were pressed against cold tiles and deliciously warm water sprayed over him; and he screamed when Flint entered him, his whole body shaking with need, and he never wanted this to end; and he was writhing, his fingernails digging into Flint’s forearms, and he needed him so much; and Flint hit him _just there_ and _oh God_ ; it was too sweet to bear; and then he screamed again, so loud his throat hurt and then Flint held him in his arms and he was almost sobbing because of the heat that was still burning through his blood, and that sweet, sweet pain, and the overwhelming exhaustion that was taking over his body.

He pressed his face into Flint’s shoulder, and he wanted Flint to never let go of him, to never remove his strong arms from around him, to never stop kissing his neck. But he did, and once more, his knees almost gave in when he stood on his feet again; but this time with exhaustion rather than anything else. Flint steadied him. “Alright?” he murmured, taking Harry’s chin into his hand so he was forced to look up at him.

“I’m fine,” Harry said and after a few moments he was able to walk on his own – well, almost so Flint had to place an arm around his waist, but he didn’t mind. Not at all.

They dressed in silence and Flint wrapped his cloak around Harry’s shoulders when they were about to leave the showers. “Never-fading warming spell,” he explained gruffly. “My clothes have those, too, so I don’t need it.”

“I never knew such things existed,” Harry said, huddling under the cloak and marvelling at the warmth – it did not feel as good as when he was wrapped in Flint’s arms, but it was definitely very nice.

Flint seemed about to say something, but then he stopped himself and only said after a few seconds: “Well, they do. You’d do good getting some for yourself, seeing you have no sense of self-preservation.”

Harry was about to give a biting retort when a move caught his eye. He had his wand out before he had even thought about it, but it was only Hades, prancing about the snow. He was not alone, though, a second thestral followed him; and both looked like dancing shadows on the white surface.

“Hades!” Harry cried out with joy, wrapping his arms around the thestral’s slender neck. “What are you doing here?” Almost automatically, he held out his wrist for Hades, watching unbothered when his teeth sunk into his scarred flesh. By now, it didn’t hurt anymore; it felt more like a faint tickle.

 _You wanted to fly tonight_ , Hades whispered, _to welcome the new turn of the sun. You and your mate._

Harry wanted to explain that Flint was not his _mate_ , but he assumed that thestrals knew nothing about fucking-only-relationships-that-involved-no-feelings, so his words would probably be wasted.

So he turned around to look at Flint questioningly, but he seemed to be frozen in shock. “What do you think you’re doing?” he managed to snarl when he seemed to have regained his composure. “A thestral’s bite _kills_.”

Harry shrugged. “Well, not me, obviously.”

“This is not possible,” Flint hissed. “There are no… do you mean it bit you before?”

“ _He_ ,” Harry said. “Yes, why’d you think my wrist looks like that?”

Flint grabbed his wrist and stared at it, his face darkening. “I had noticed it was scarred, but I had thought you…” He broke off and stroked with his thumb over the scars on Harry’s wrist, smearing the blood a bit.

“You thought what?” Harry asked, staring up at Flint’s dark expression. “That I cut myself?”

“You have had enough reasons,” he said softly. “And I noticed that you are never afraid of getting hurt.”

Harry ripped his forearm from Flint’s grip. “Well, I have not,” he said harshly. He didn’t know why, but he was appalled – hurting himself would be like giving in, would be like admitting weakness and he was _not weak_. He was fucking not.

The soft brush of Hades’ snout on his shoulder calmed his thoughts, caught up in a sudden whirlwind of indignation, and he breathed deeply. Then he climbed onto Hades’ back, looking at Flint challengingly. “You coming?”

Flint frowned at him. “Where are we going?”

Harry narrowed his eyes at him. “You don’t have to come with me.”

“You should not go flying again,” Flint said. “You belong into your bed; you were frozen to the bone before.”

“You can’t tell me what to do,” Harry said, touching Hades’ neck lightly, as he always did when he wanted him to fly and Hades soared up and up; and soon enough the wind rushed along his ears.

He would never be able to decide whether he loved flying with his broom or flying with Hades more, he thought, but, after all, he didn’t have to. He only knew that he loved this, the icy rush of wind along his face which he pressed against Hades’ neck and he sped up and up until all the stars blurred into one stream of pale light; and he loved the strong, steady beat of his wings and the way his thin, bony body moved so fluently through the air.

Like a shadow, Hades landed and once more Harry stood atop the Eiffel Tower, huddling himself into Flint’s cloak and glancing downwards. There were people everywhere, so many faces turned up to the sky and a quick Tempus told him it was only a few minutes to midnight now. “Potter,” someone growled behind him and Harry turned around and smiled at Flint.

“You came,” he said and his heart actually fluttered a bit at that.

“Only to stop you from whatever follies you have in mind now,” Flint said, stepping next to him. “Where are we?”

“In Paris,” Harry said, leaning over the railing, to have a better view at the people down below. “This is one of the most famous Muggle monuments.”

“What are they waiting for?” Flint asked, stepping next to him and glancing downwards.

“For midnight,” Harry said; and suddenly there were cries of joy from a thousand mouths; and then, the fireworks exploded all over the city. Glittering lights danced over the sky, red and blue and green flowers of light bloomed and a thousand yellow and pink stars were born and burned within seconds.

Harry smiled. It was _beautiful_. It was actually only the second time he witnessed a firework on New Year’s Eve (there was an opulent dinner at Hogwarts, but no fireworks); he had never been allowed to do so at the Dursleys; but one year he had snuck outside, marvelling at the beauty of it, but he had stayed outside for too long, hadn’t wanted to leave the glittering lights and he had been found out. The day after had been ugly, and the week after even uglier with all the pain and hunger.

He shoved the memory away. Tonight he could stay as long as he wanted and he laid his head back, staring at the sky, brightened from the fireworks; and he leaned back when Flint stepped up behind him, wrapping his arms around him and pressing him against his warm, broad chest.

And so, this year began on a much brighter note than the last year had ended.

xXx

Harry’s resolution not to spend the nights with Flint anymore had not held up very long – after their return from Paris he had followed Flint to his dormitory, telling himself that he would only warm himself up a bit, but it had been so cold and he had been so comfortable and warm in Flint’s arms that he had not been able to leave. He had expected Flint would want to have sex now, but, surprisingly, he made no advances and within minutes Harry fell asleep, curled up against his body, lulled to sleep by his strong, steady heartbeat.

And the morning began with slow, but glorious sex (the way every morning should begin) and they spent the rest of the morning in bed, too, and part of the afternoon until they were too hungry to stay in bed any longer, but there had been another round of definitely-not-slow sex before they turned up for dinner.

Neville, who must have returned throughout the day, had only watched him knowingly and not said a word about it, but had brightly chattered about his adventures on New Year’s Eve.

And Harry didn’t spend any other night in his own bed, either, and he didn’t really care. Neville didn’t raise the subject again and instead they spent gloriously lazy afternoons in the Common Room, playing chess matches that would have had Ron in tears, eating way too many sweets and trying to think up ways of getting back at Snape (none of which would ever work, sadly).

And sooner than Harry knew, the holidays were over and he glumly thought about the nights he would have to spend all alone now and all the time he would not be able to spend with Flint (weird as that sounded), but he was also really looking forward to Ron and Hermione whom he had sorely missed and the Common Room being filled with laughter and chatter once more.

xXx

Harry couldn’t believe how short the Christmas holidays had been: They had passed like in a rush; with all the time he had spent in Flint’s bed, and all the lazy afternoons with Neville, and all the mornings spent reading about camouflage spells and interlacing spells, and doing homework; and the hours he had spent flying either on his broom or with Hades. His bad conscience was making itself known then: He had mostly ignored Cedric except for smiling back at him when Cedric smiled at him during the meals in the Great Hall; sad smiles that made Harry squirm in his seat, but Cedric hadn’t said a word.

And then, there had been New Year’s Eve, of course, and Harry smiled at the memory. Although he was sad this oddly peaceful time ended now, he was looking forward to seeing his friends again. And there they came up the hill: “Harry! Harry!” he heard Hermione cry and then they were already jogging towards him; and he waved, running towards them.

Laughing, he hugged them both; and Hermione kissed his cheeks whereas Ron resorted to pounding on his back. “Thank you for your brilliant present, mate!” he yelled and Harry grinned at him.

“I knew you’d like them,” he said, grinning – he had bought midnight blue festive robes for Ron that were similar to his own.

“Mum actually cried when she saw me in them,” Ron said. “And then she told me that they were a hundred times better than Great-Great-Uncle’s what’s-his-name old rags. Even Percy complimented me on them – I think it’s the very first time he has ever complimented me on anything. Anyway, how’d you like mine?”

“It was brilliant,” he said. “I had no idea there were so many photos of us.”

“Thank you for your gift, too,” Hermione said with a smile and pointed at her throat. “I’m already wearing it, look.” He had gifted her with a delicate necklace that was wrought of silver runes and lilies. When he had by chance discovered it in Hogsmeade, he had thought it beautiful, but as he could hardly wear it himself, he had bought it for Hermione, hoping she might like it just as much as he did.

“Not a book for once,” he said grinning.

“I wouldn’t have minded a book,” she replied with a smile, “but this one is really beautiful, so thank you.”

Harry placed his arms around their shoulders when they walked up to the Great Hall at a more sedated pace – he had truly missed them. “What were your holidays like?” Ron asked lightly.

Harry shrugged. “Calm. And quite peaceful. I could get used to that. And… well, I wrote you what happened.”

“Tough, mate,” Ron said, patting his back, “real tough.”

“I know it was a jerk move, breaking up with him on Christmas,” Harry murmured. “But I just realized some things about him and me – well, I _had_ known them before, of course, but somehow I refused to see clearly, if that makes sense?”

“It must have been tough, but it was the right thing to do,” Hermione said softly.

“Yeah.” Harry grimaced. “Still, I feel horrible about it.”

“He’ll get over it eventually,” Ron said. “Of course it’s hard, but I doubt he’ll have problems to find someone else.”

“Ron, honestly,” Hermione said with an eye roll. “Cedric’s not like that. And, Harry, are… have you told anyone?”

“Neville knows,” Harry said (and Flint, of course, but he didn’t mention that), “but no one else. But word will get out sooner or later; and I’m really not looking forward to it.”

“Maybe there won’t be a nasty article in the Daily Prophet,” Ron said, sounding unconvinced.

Harry snorted. “As if.”

“Did you find out anything concerning how they took the photos of Cedric and you?” Hermione asked curiously. “I looked up a few spells that might make it possible – but they couldn’t have been done by a student. So it must have been an experienced wizard or witch which leaves once again the question how they entered Hogwarts grounds.”

They discussed a few more options while walking up to the Great Hall and Harry vaguely thought that he was not hungry at all, as Flint had picked up snacks from the kitchen and they had eaten them just a few hours ago, lounging in his bed, but he quickly changed his mind when he saw the amounts of food that were piled on the House tables: colourful, steaming and with a most appealing scent.

“Ah, I love welcome-back-feasts,” Ron sighed while they sat down.

“They are the best,” Harry agreed – while the food was definitely superb, the best thing about these feasts was the fact that he had his friends back.

During dinner, they laughed and chatted and Ron told hilarious stories of Fred and George and Harry was in such a good mood that he even flashed Flint the shortest grin – he narrowed his eyes at him, but then his expression softened a bit and Harry had to force himself to look away from him again.

After dinner, Dumbledore clapped his hand once and – Harry had no idea how he always managed to do that – the noise immediately died down. “Welcome back,” he said with a smile, “I hope all of you are well relaxed and can start into the new term with more motivation than ever.” His smile widened at the snickers that rose at this and Harry rubbed his forehead absent-mindedly as a pounding headache was making itself known – it was too hot in the Great Hall, he thought. “However, I have a grand announcement to make which will hopefully not divert your attention from learning. In honour of the Triwizard Tournament, Hogwarts will hold the traditional Winter Ball on 24th of February for students from Fourth Year and up, as well as younger students who attend the Ball with an older student. As it is a celebration of unity and friendship, I hope to see many inter-school couples as well as inter-House couples at the Ball. As you surely wish to discuss this with your friends, I have nothing to say but to wish you a good night.”

Immediately, a loud murmur rose and discussions started everywhere. “So _that’s_ what the festive robes were for,” Ron said loudly after a few seconds.

“Seems like I got yours just in time,” Harry said grinning.

“I’m sure it will be fantastic,” Hermione said with a slightly dreamy smile on her face, “certainly a magical ball is even more over-the-top than a Muggle ball.”

“But just imagine the horror of having to ask a girl if she will go with you,” Ron moaned.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. “Yes,” she said, her voice glacial, “the threat of facing a basilisk dwindles compares to the threat of asking a girl out.”

“It does!” Ron said and Hermione harrumphed. Harry kicked his shin – sometimes Ron was less sensitive than a mountain troll.

“You wouldn’t know, you never faced a basilisk,” he said loudly, giving Ron a pointed look.

“At least a girl can’t kill you with her eyes,” he said.

“Never be too sure of that, Ronald,” Hermione said coolly.

On their way back to Gryffindor Tower Harry entertained himself with the thought of asking Flint out for the Ball – probably Flint would question his sanity and then ask him if he was under some kind of spell – and then check if Harry actually wasn’t and what might be a better way than to fuck him until he forgot his own name?

Harry jumped about a foot in the air when Ron snapped his fingers directly before his face. “Pay attention where you’re walking, mate,” he said, “you almost walked into that pillar. Besides, I already asked you thrice if you’d like to have a chess match with me.”

“Chess,” Harry repeated, still not fully there, “yes, why not.”

“I don’t see why you’re still playing with him,” Hermione remarked. “Did you actually ever win once?”

Harry shrugged – he was not very good at chess, that was true, but playing with Ron was fun – the chess pieces knew the most choice swear words and insulting one another for stupid moves was fun – well, the stupid ones were only on Harry’s part; whenever he thought Ron had made a stupid move it always turned out to be a brilliant trap for Harry. “Well, there must be one thing I do not excel at,” he declared with a grin.

Ron and Hermione laughed at him; and then Ron said: “Yeah, but why don’t you play against me, Hermione? Afraid of losing?”

“Of course not!” she bristled, but Harry thought there might be a grain of truth to it: She actually only played against Harry (where she mostly won), but never against Ron. But Ron had now managed to ruin the mood; and Hermione spent the rest of the evening with Neville whereas Harry lost three games to Ron.

Hermione pointedly only wished Harry a good night; and when they went up to their dorm, Ron declared: “Women, Harry, no man can ever understand them. And with Hermione it’s even worse because she’s not only a woman, but also significantly more intelligent than anyone else which makes everything even more complicated. But it’s not easier with men, or is it?”

“No,” Harry said drily. “It really isn’t.”

Today, falling asleep felt weird: He had gotten so used to falling asleep in Flint’s muscular arms, pressed up against his comfortably warm chest, that he could hardly fall asleep now, all alone now under the cold sheets. Neville wouldn’t say a thing if he didn’t sleep here, he knew, but the other boys definitely would ask uncomfortable questions, and Hermione, too – and it was her questions he feared the most.

With a sigh, he closed his eyes and eventually, he slipped into uneasy dreams.


	19. Chapter 19

_“Does Potter know about the Task?” he asks harshly._

_His loyal servant lowers his eyes. “I do not know for sure, my Lord.”_

_“See that you do!” he hisses. “Everything must go according to plan. He must know.”_

_“Yes, my Lord,” he says, giving a short bow. “I will make sure he knows.”_

_He nods – he knows he can trust his servant. “Is there anything else at Hogwarts? Something I should know of?”_

_His servant hesitates for a second. “I do not know if you care about these things, my Lord, but there will be the traditional Ball for the Triwizard Tournament. A lot of ministry officials of importance will attend.”_

_Once more, he is satisfied – his servant has dared to give him a hint, not being so bold as to actually make a suggestion, of course – he has truly chosen well. “I will take it into consideration,” he allows. “You have been most useful so far.”_

_Wormtail, who has been cowering in a corner of the room, gives a small whimper at that and he sneers at him with disdain. Wormtail has been anything but most useful – useful, yes, but he is incapable of even the most mundane things._

_“Thank you, my Lord,” his servant says with an appropriately deep bow. “I am most honoured.”_

_He nods shortly. “See that you do not disappoint me.”_

_“I will not,” he promises and bows once more before leaving the house._

_He sighs, leaning back in his chair, wishing he could find a comfortable position, but in this body, it is impossible. It is about time he gets his true body back. About time…_

Harry awoke in a horribly uncomfortable position, half on his back, half on the side, with his legs curled up and one arm twisted beneath his body; and with a groan, he unwound himself from his awkward posture. His scar throbbed and he rubbed at it absent-mindedly; and once more his fingers were smeared with blood.

“Weird,” he murmured to himself. He couldn’t remember what he had dreamed of (well, of Voldemort, most likely), but there had been something in his dream that prodded him – something he had forgotten about, but that he’d better remember.

Then, he knew. “Fuck,” he moaned, opening the lowest drawer of his nightstand. The Second Task. Glumly, he pulled the Golden Egg from the drawer and blew the dust off – he had actually completely _forgotten_ about the Second Task. Miserably, he stared at the Egg, wishing an epiphany might come just now, but it didn’t.

With a sigh, he stuffed the Egg into his book bag, hoping the epiphany might hit him some time later today.

xXx

“Hey, Harry, there’s a pillow on your window sill,” Seamus pointed out while struggling to button up his crinkled shirt. Harry, who had gotten up early due to his weird dream and had already been ready-to-go for an hour or so, looked up from his potions book (he had the dreading feeling Snape might decide to test his knowledge on Shrinking Potions just today) and blinked at Seamus.

“Yeah, it’s for Netha,” he said absent-mindedly, but he looked up when the four other boys flinched – he must have spoken Parsel – but he didn’t even know how to pronounce the name in English; it would sound weird for sure.

“What was _that_?” Seamus asked with an exaggerated shiver.

“Oh, she’s my snake,” he said matter-of-factly, although she was technically not his snake (she would have been scandalized at the very thought of him calling her his possession), but, he assumed, his classmates would not understand that.

“Your snake,” Seamus repeated with a frown. “What, are you a Slytherin now?”

Harry narrowed his eyes at him. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Her poison has been removed,” Neville added, probably trying to be helpful, but he only made the boys flinch even more.

“Where is it now?” Dean asked sharply.

Harry rolled up his sleeve to show off Netha who was wrapped around his forearm, sleeping peacefully. She had grown a bit (she was still very young, after all), but she was no thicker than two fingers; and her black scales shone in the pale sunlight. She hissed a quiet “good morning” and her tongue flickered out to taste the air.

“That is a Black Strangler!” Seamus gasped, jumping backwards. “Are you _mad_ , Harry? They are one of the most poisonous snakes!”

“As Neville just said, her poison has been removed and she is perfectly harmless,” Harry pointed out.

“I don’t like it,” Seamus muttered, staring at Netha darkly. “A snake in our dorm, I don’t like it.”

“I didn’t expect you to,” Harry said drily. He had expected Seamus to react like that – it was not that he didn’t like Seamus; he was fun to hang out with, he always had funny comments on everything and he loved to chat about Quidditch and he and Harry had had some intense discussions about certain games with him; but Seamus was also easy to anger and everyone immediately knew if he didn’t like something; but, Harry thought, he hardly needed his approval.

“Would you like to stay here or come with me?” Harry asked Netha, ignoring Seamus’ exaggerated shudder.

“Today is a cold day and I am feeling sleepy, so I will stay here,” she said, slithering from his wrist onto her cushion on the window sill and turning her head towards the rising sun.

“How did you come by it?” Dean asked carefully when they walked down the stairs to the Common Room.

“She was a Christmas gift,” Harry said and he couldn’t hide the smile on his face; Netha had definitely been among the best Christmas gifts ever, right next to the Firebolt and the photo album of his parents.

“Who gave it to you?”

“There was no card, but I guess it was Hagrid,” Harry lied easily – it was not even unlikely; Hagrid was well known among the students for his weakness for dangerous animals.

Hermione seemed to have forgotten about Ron’s faux pas with the Ball yesterday as she immediately started talking about a test McGonagall might confront them with today as soon as Harry and Ron had stepped into the Common Room; and only when she gave Ron a dark look, Harry knew that she hadn’t forgotten after all.

xXx

“Mr. Potter, stay after class, please,” McGonagall said and Harry swallowed; he assumed it was about his botched transfiguration – they had been supposed to turn a snake into a rope; but Harry’s rope still moved and spoke Parsel – which was violently discomforting as it ceaselessly pleaded Harry to turn him back until he yelled at it to shut up (in English, unfortunately, instead of Parsel) which had brought him a lot of weird stares from his classmates.

“I’m sorry about the rope,” he blurted before McGonagall had even said a word, “but it simply wouldn’t _shut up_.”

She blinked. “I beg your pardon? Oh, that. Well, Mr. Potter, actually I thought it was quite fascinating. No, this is about the Ball. Can you dance?”

Now Harry blinked at her. “Excuse me?”

“The Ball, Mr. Potter,” she said impatiently. “Can you dance?”

“Well, no,” Harry said, “at least no Standard Dancing.”

“It seems you will have to take part in the dancing lessons then,” she said primly. “I noticed that you hadn’t entered your name yet.”

Harry frowned. “I’ll just hang out with Ron and Hermione, why would I dance?”

“Why, Mr. Potter, you will not _hang out_ ; together with the other Champions, you and your partner will open and close the Ball with a classic dance.”

Harry stared at her. “I what?”

“Did a Hippogriff get your ears, Mr. Potter? You and your partner will open and close the Ball.”

“Me and my partner,” Harry repeated, dumbfounded.

“Mr. Potter, what is _wrong_ with you? Yes, you and your partner. I am sure there will be no lack of offers,” she added, her lips pinched. “Good day, Mr. Potter.”

“Good day,” Harry murmured, slowly walking outside. Did he actually have to go with someone else? He had actually had quite many people (including Ginny) come up to him and ask if he wanted to accompany them to the Ball – apparently he was not as unpopular as he had thought (in particular with the girls from the lower years) or maybe his status as the Boy-Who-Lived overrode his current all-time-low in popularity – but he didn’t to go with a random girl he didn’t even know.

Once more, Flint crossed his mind – somehow he felt that their relationship was not strictly fucking-only anymore; with all the nights Harry had spent in his bed, falling asleep cuddled up to him; and the afternoons they had gone flying together (out of sight from the castle) and lazy hours where they just talked (alright, mostly Harry was the one talking and Flint gave non-committal grunts from time to time) and snogged – but no holding hands yet, and Harry doubted very much they’d ever reach that stage.

But there was one thing that had changed: Harry had called him by his first name now several times; Flint hadn’t said anything about it, only his eyes had flickered oddly, but he had not objected and so Harry was trying to call him Marcus in his mind – which felt weird; he had thought of him as Flint all his time at Hogwarts, even when they had already had sex several times; but, after New Year, a few things had changed.

With that, his thoughts returned to the Ball: Maybe he should just ask Hermione? But no, that was Ron’s job – and Harry didn’t want to meddle into their friends-who-obviously-had-feelings-for-each-other-but-neither-wanted-to-admit-it relationship – now, if only Ron had the balls to admit his feelings for her and ask her out.

Harry grimaced. This Ball was going on his nerves already – and it was still over a month away.

xXx

“Harry?” a soft voice asked. Harry, who had just been caught up in telling Ron and Hermione about an epic snowball battle he had had with Neville during the holidays, didn’t hear it at first and only turned around when Hermione placed a hand on his shoulder.

Cedric stood behind them, tall and handsome and with a sad smile. “Can we talk?” he asked quietly.

“Oh,” Harry said awkwardly, “um… yes, I guess so.”

“We’ll see you, Harry,” Hermione said, taking Ron’s elbow and steering him forward.

Cedric waited until they had turned around a corner before smiling at Harry once more. “How are you?” Harry asked, cursing himself a second later; _what a stupid question_.

“I’m alright,” Cedric said, but it was obvious that he was lying. “And you?”

“Alright, too, I guess,” Harry said, trying to balance all of his books in his arms (he had not yet given up on finding out how Skeeter had managed to take the photos).

“Well, I…” Cedric stared at his hands. “I wanted to ask… well, you’re going to the Ball, too, aren’t you?”

“Obviously,” Harry said carefully, narrowing his eyes at Cedric – what was he up to?

“And you need a partner, too, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Harry said slowly.

“So I was wondering… I mean, it’s alright if you don’t want to, but I thought… maybe… we could go? As friends?” He tried to smile, but it failed and he only looked hopeless instead.

“Cedric,” Harry said quietly, “are you… I mean, you’re still in love with me, aren’t you?”

“I guess so,” Cedric said, hunching up his shoulders.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Harry said, trying to sound as kind as possible. “I mean, I like you, Cedric, I really do, but… well, we broke up and I think it’s just not a very good idea to go to the Ball together – I don’t want to hurt you; and I think this _would_ hurt you.”

There was silence for a few minutes and Harry wanted to leave, but he didn’t, pressing his books to his chest instead.

“Are you in a relationship with him now?” Cedric asked, trying to sound light, but he couldn’t keep the sadness out of his voice.

Harry sighed. “I don’t really know,” he said quietly. “It’s complicated.”

“Why him?” Cedric asked. “I… I just don’t know what he has that I don’t.”

“This is not a comparison between you and him,” Harry said after a few minutes – he knew it was kind of an evasive answer, but he didn’t want to hurt Cedric – he wouldn’t know what to say anyway.

Cedric gave a sigh. “I guess it is,” he said, looking dejected, “and I lost. But… if you change your mind, just tell me, alright? I would love to go with you.”

“I will,” Harry said – what else could he say? It was not like he _could_ go with Cedric, even if he wanted to – there was no way this could go well.

xXx

Harry had already known that this would not be a good day when he had woken up – namely, he had woken up by falling out of his bed after dreaming of a failed Wronski-Feint and trying to jump from his broom before he hit the ground in his dream – now he hit the ground in reality instead.

And as soon as he entered the Great Hall, he knew that he had been right; and without further comment, Hermione presented him with the Daily Prophet.

_The-Boy-Who-Breaks-Hearts_

_By: Rita Skeeter_

_As your dearest reporter has learned from reliable sources, the short romance between the two Hogwarts Champions, everyone’s sweetheart Cedric Diggory and the Boy-Who-Broke-His-Heart, child hero Harry Potter, is broken apart._

_There has been quite some excitement among the Hogwarts students as the traditional Winter Ball for the Triwizard Tournament will be held at Hogwarts on the 24 th of February and the most important question in the last days has been: Who will be going with whom?_

_Well, one thing we can already tell: Harry Potter won’t be going with his now-ex-boyfriend Cedric Diggory. Witnesses tell of a heart breaking scene: Despite Harry having broken up with him, Cedric asked him if he would accompany him to the Ball; and the Boy-Who-Lived shattered his heart once more by telling him No._

_So their fragile romance has only been very short-lived and it makes us wonder: What made Harry break up with Cedric? But, my dear readers will say now, what if it was the other way round; what if Cedric broke up with Harry? No, says everyone who has given Cedric only one look as it is obvious that the Hufflepuff Sixth Year is obviously heartbroken while our boy hero is clearly not._

_And while there were no names, we have hints that another man has won the Boy-Who-Lived’s attention – which makes us wonder what man could ever best Cedric Diggory, gem-eyed prince of every bachelorette’s dreams? So far, there are no clues, but your faithful reporter will keep her eyes open for even the tiniest details!_

_What does the student body think of the recent break-up which hadn’t been public knowledge until now? “I knew Potter would dump him as soon as he could,” a Hufflepuff student says, “it was obvious Potter was not in love with Cedric and he was just using him.”_

_“Cedric has been so sad for weeks now and Potter doesn’t even care,” another Hufflepuff student says. “That shows what kind of person he is, doesn’t it?”_

_The question now is: Who will accompany our heartbroken Cedric to the Winter Ball? And who might ever be good enough for the picky Boy-Who-Lived?_

_Check out page six for paintings of the last Winter Ball during the Triwizard Tournament which was exactly two hundred and two years ago! You can be sure that it will be even more breath-taking as everyone will try to outdo themselves – make sure to read our Special Ball Prophet on the day after with all the juicy news and spectacular photos!_

“Ugh,” Harry said and dropped the Prophet onto the table, “not that Skeeter bitch again. How does she know all that stuff? It is almost as if she listened to Cedric and me talking yesterday.”

“I’m still trying to come up with something,” Hermione said unhappily, “I can’t believe that I should be outwitted by that old hag. It must be something simple as I am sure that _she_ could never come up with a clever plan.”

Harry snickered – Hermione was a bit sensitive when she thought that someone was cleverer than she – he knew how it must rankle her not to know how Skeeter did it – well, but it did rankle him, too, and with a sigh he turned to his porridge again, trying to ignore all the shouts and insults into his direction.

“But… do you have a new boyfriend, then?” Ron asked very quietly and Hermione leaned in, her eyes flashing with curiosity.

Harry hesitated for a second – some part of him wanted to tell them, but firstly he thought they might not understand the whole Flint-thing (and how could they if he didn’t even understand it himself?) and the less people knew, the better. “Nah, she made up that part,” he lied easily. “Can’t expect her to tell no lies, can we?”

He wanted to add something, but he turned around when someone roughly bumped into his shoulder and he wanted to snarl at the person when he saw it was Flint – _Marcus_ , who was just leaving the Great Hall with large steps. “Arsehole,” Ron muttered.

“I just remembered that I forgot to pack my Charms book,” Harry said, hurriedly throwing his bag over his shoulder. “I’ll just pick it up and meet you in Charms.”

Before either Ron or Hermione could even say a word, he had dashed out of the Great Hall, looking for Marcus in the Entrance Hall. Someone grabbed his shoulder and for once, he was not surprised, but turned around and smiled at him instead. “I guess you wanted to talk to me?”

Flint – _Marcus_ nodded at the empty corridor to the left; and there he pulled Harry into a storeroom that smelled of cleaning supplies. Harry flinched when Marcus hit the wall with his fist, his face suddenly a mask of fury. “How can you allow her to do that?” he asked harshly. “How _does she know_?”

“Well, I am already trying to find out _how_ she does it,” Harry said, “but either she is using a student who is absurdly good at camouflage spells; or she has found some way to sneak onto Hogwarts grounds, but I don’t know how that is possible.”

Marcus narrowed his eyes at him. “I keep forgetting you are a Gryffindor – Skeeter was a Slytherin; you must think like a Slytherin. Have you even considered… illegal ways of her watching you?”

“What do you mean, illegal ways?” Harry asked. “You mean she bugged me or something?”

“What are you talking about? I hope she has not infested you with bugs.”

Harry rolled his eyes – oh right, Marcus wouldn’t know about that. “It’s a Muggle thing. But what were you speaking of – Dark Magic?”

Marcus shrugged. “Why not?”

“I know next to nothing about Dark Magic,” Harry admitted.

For a moment, an odd expression flickered over Marcus’ face, then he said harshly: “It’d be better if you did. Think about what I said, Potter. I will do my own research.”

And as he did way too often, he left Harry standing without any other comment; and Harry could only stare after him. He hadn’t even kissed him, he thought; and oddly, his chest stung at the realization.

He managed to arrive at Charms just-in-time and Hermione offered him a raspberry muffin she had brought from breakfast. “I know you like these best,” she said with a smile; and Harry knew that she was trying to cheer him up because of the stupid article.

Talking of the article… “Hermione,” he whispered under his breath, carefully checking that Flitwick wasn’t paying attention to them, “I just had an idea… d’you reckon Skeeter might have bugged me in some way?”

She frowned at him. “Muggle electrics don’t work at Hogwarts, Harry, you should know that. And I couldn’t think of any other way –” Then, she froze and stared at Harry as if she had never seen him before. “Brilliant,” she whispered; and then she jumped up. “I know now! What a bitch! I need to check this _immediately!_ ” she exclaimed; and then she grabbed her bag and dashed out of the door before Harry could do more than blink.

“What the hell –” Ron began loudly, only to be interrupted by Flitwick clearing his throat.

“Watch your language, Mr. Weasley. Mr. Potter, what was that about?”

“I don’t know, Sir,” Harry said. “I think she just had… an epiphany.”

“Ah, I remember those moments from my youth,” Flitwick sighed. “Nevertheless, I will have to take ten points from Gryffindor. Kindly tell Miss Granger that she is to report to my office at eight o’clock tonight for detention.”

“Yes, Sir,” Harry said, looking at Ron, and he knew both had the same thought: Hermione had never before left class willingly; it must be _quite_ an epiphany she had had.


	20. Chapter 20

“So, what was your great epiphany?” Ron asked Hermione when he and Harry settled down in the Library. She was half-hidden behind a huge pile of books, but from the furious scratching of her feather they knew that she was scribbling away hurriedly.

She peeked out of a gap between two huge tomes and beamed at them. “Harry, unbeknownst to yourself, you are a genius,” she announced and shoved the pile of books aside rather unceremoniously, which was very unusual for her. “Skeeter _actually_ bugged you,” she said, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial level.

Ron frowned at her. “I do hope very seriously that she has not infested Harry with some kind of insects,” he said, skidding away a bit from Harry.

“It’s a Muggle thing,” Harry said, slightly exasperated.

“You are not even that wrong, Ronald,” Hermione said and he looked up in surprise at her unexpected admission. “Skeeter is an _illegal animagus_. That is how she got into Hogwarts: There are wards against wizards and witches, but none against animals – I actually got that idea from Sirius because that is how he fled from Azkaban. And this is also how she listened to you – she must be a very small animal – some kind of insect, I assume – so no one would notice her and she could buzz about directly next to you and you would never know.”

She looked at them triumphantly. “I knew that bitch couldn’t outsmart me.”

“That is actually brilliant,” Ron said, sounding awed, “Hermione, you are surely the brightest candle in the lustre of the Wizarding World.”

“Thank you,” she said, blushing fiercely and lowering her eyes for a moment. “Harry, what do you think?”

Harry was actually still caught up thinking about Skeeter being an illegal animagus – it was _really_ clever, he had to admit, and very Slytherin. And no one would ever get behind it – except Hermione, of course. “You are indeed brilliant,” he said, “but the very idea creeps me out – I mean, she could be everywhere, couldn’t she? She could even be in the Library right now, couldn’t she?”

“She could indeed,” Hermione said, “but I also figured out how to counter that: There are spells that reveal animagi, but you probably would have to cast them every few minutes and that would be really tiring. That is why I thought of something different: There is a potion called the Red Receptacle which works as a vessel for magic so you can add a spell to the potion and the potion carries the spell until the magic fades which means that you will have to replace the potion and the spell every morning.”

“That does sound like a cunning plan,” Ron agreed, “and that potion seems really neat. Why isn’t it used a lot more often?”

“Ah, it happens to be illegal,” Hermione said, blushing a bit. “But it’s not _that_ illegal. Not like… Polyjuice Potion.”

All three of them laughed – even now it seemed unbelievable to Harry that they had actually managed to brew a highly illegal and restricted potion in their Second Year – no one would ever believe that story, should one of them ever mention it in their memoirs. “It’s really a good idea,” Harry agreed, “but where’s the catch?”

“You have to brew the potion by yourself,” Hermione said, “as it can only be brewed by the one who wants to use it – it has to get used to your magic, you know. I already have the recipe,” she pulled out a parchment from the pile in front of her, “and it is not _that_ hard, but I will oversee you brewing it and then you’d better catch Skeeter and give her a piece of your mind.”

“Is that really you, Hermione?” Ron asked drily. “Suggesting to brew an illegal potion, suggesting to threaten others, leaving class willingly and getting yourself into detention for it?”

“Well, it _is_ exciting,” Hermione said, her eyes blazing, “we haven’t broken rules for far too long. And I want to see that _cunt_ going down for harassing you that way, Harry.”

“Hermione!” Ron exclaimed, scandalized at her choice of words. “Who are you and what have you done to our best friend?”

Harry snickered. “Ron, you keep forgetting that Hermione only plays the part of the innocent know-it-all – she was with us on almost all of our… _adventures_ and she suggested breaking the rules more often than not, don’t you remember?”

xXx

Breaking rules _was_ exciting, Harry had to admit to himself, that was probably why he did it so much – but it was more fun when you did it with your friends. They were in an abandoned classroom on the third floor (despite Fluffy being gone for years, no one seemed particularly willing to repopulate this part of the castle) and Harry had locked the door with a pattern of five spells that he was very proud of and that had made Hermione exclaim in awe.

Currently he sat cross-legged on a table, balancing a potions book on his knees and reading about adding your magic to a potion – which seemed to be a widely frowned upon technique – while Hermione checked the integrity of his prepared ingredients and Ron, camped out in a respectful distance to the cauldron, scribbled away at his Transfiguration homework. “Everything looks fine to me,” Hermione said, double-checking the amount of ingredients that were neatly laid out on the table. “You may add the powdered boomslang skin now.”

“Drizzle it slowly in a counter-clockwise motion,” Harry recited obediently, carefully spooning up the powdered boomslang skin, and Hermione gave a satisfied nod. Ron had only shaken his head when Hermione had told them that she had kept the remnants of the ingredients they had stolen from Snape in their Second Year – “one might never know what they are good for,” she had claimed.

“You are really good at this,” she remarked.

“If it were not for Snape, I would not suck so hard at Potions,” Harry said with a sigh. “This is actually fun – somehow it is never fun in class.”

“You only think this is fun because it is an illegal potion,” Ron said drily and Harry snickered.

“Well, that might be true,” he admitted freely, checking the recipe for the next step.

Sooner than he had expected, the potion was finished and Hermione suggested testing it – and what could ever be a better spell than Lumos? Harry felt a bit weird, performing the spell and touching the potion with the tip of his wand just when the spell left his wand, but it _did_ work.

The little potion vial was now gleaming in a red light – not as bright as his Lumos would normally be, but it cast a soft light that still held up when they went to bed and Harry had to stuff the vial into his trunk so it wouldn’t disturb their sleep.

This potion was brilliant and Harry knew he’d get Skeeter as soon as she showed up in the castle; and he fell asleep thinking up ways to get back at her.

xXx

This opportunity arrived sooner than he had expected it to, namely only four days later when he was just strolling through a lonely corridor with Ron and Hermione. Hermione was enthusiastically explaining the theory of reptile-to-amphibian transfiguration to Ron who winked at Harry – Harry winked back; Ron had really upped his game lately concerning Hermione, but as far as Harry knew, he hadn’t asked her to the Ball yet.

Then, he felt the potion vial in his pocket grow warm and he stopped, holding out his hands to stop Ron and Hermione, too. “She’s here,” he breathed, grabbing for his wand and inspecting the floor and the walls. Then, he saw her. “Imobilus!” he yelled; and the light-blue spell struck a beetle on the wall right next to him.

Triumphantly, he stepped towards it to inspect it more closely. It was a rather large beetle (almost as long as his pinky) with transparent wings, frozen afluttering, and shiny black eyes, surrounded by a pattern that reminded Harry strongly of the crusted jewellery on Skeeter’s glasses.

“Is that her?” Ron asked, ogling her curiously.

“Definitely,” Hermione said, “let’s pick her up, come on.” She conjured a glass jar, levitated the frozen beetle in and closed it with a whispered “Colloportus”.

“Let’s go to the classroom on the third floor,” Ron suggested. “We will be undisturbed there.”

Hermione nodded and stuffed the jar into her overflowing bag. “How should we deal with her?”

“I don’t care how we do it, I only want her to stop writing about me,” Harry said grimly. “And about Cedric or any of you, at that. We should give her a good fright.”

“We definitely should,” Ron agreed. “You should threaten her in Parsel – it’ll freak her out. And do you have your snake with you?”

“But we should also make _sure_ that she keeps her mouth shut,” Hermione said, a hard edge to her tone. “And I want to find out how she did it – in particular, how she took the photos. I happen to have a potion that looks _just_ like Veritaserum with me.”

“You _happen_ to?” Ron asked with a frown.

“Well, I wanted to be prepared, of course,” Hermione said. “It’s actually harmless, it only gives you a squeaky voice – but it looks disturbingly like Veritaserum and I thought just the threat of using it on her and making her spill all her dirty secrets might be just enough. And I have prepared a curse that will make all of her hair fall out and never let it grow back, just in case she might not keep her promise.”

“And on top of that I read that the punishment for being an illegal animagus is seven months in Azkaban,” Ron added triumphantly. “Might be a good idea to remind her of that.”

“You are a lot better prepared than me,” Harry said in surprise.

“Of course,” Hermione said, throwing one arm over his shoulders, “what were you expecting? You are our best friend and _no one_ messes with our best friend.”

“Just so,” Ron agreed, placing his arm over Hermione’s, “besides it’s been way too long we did something really exciting, don’t you think?”

xXx

“You’d better pay attention where you’re walking, Potter,” Marcus growled, grabbing Potter by the waist and pushing him into a wall.

Surprisingly though, Potter smiled at him. “I missed you sneaking up behind me and slamming me into walls,” he said, reclining against the wall lazily. “Where have you been the past days?”

“I was trying to figure out a way how to crush that bitch,” he grunted.

“Oh, that’s sweet of you,” Potter said, surprise in his voice, and placed a cool hand on Marcus’ cheek. “But not necessary anymore. We took care of her.”

“We?”

“Ron, Hermione and I,” he clarified, but he must have guessed Marcus’ next question: “No, they don’t know about you. I haven’t told anyone.”

“So,” he said, “how did you take care of her, then?”

“What about I tell you this somewhere else?” Potter whispered, looking up at him through his dark lashes; and then he arched his back a bit so they were _very_ close now. “Some place where no one can _overhear_ us?”

Marcus smirked – Potter was exactly after his fancy. “What d’you have in mind?”

“What about your bed?” Potter asked, lazy suggestiveness in his voice.

“How am I supposed to smuggle you there without everyone noticing?”

“Oh, I conveniently happen to have an invisibility cloak with me,” Potter said, his eyes bright and full of laughter.

“How did you chance upon one?” He had already wondered about that the first time he had seen Potter’s invisibility cloak because, as far as Marcus knew, invisibility cloaks were incredibly expensive and rare – but it figured that, if anyone, Potter would have one.

“Not telling,” he said with a grin. “Are we going or what?”

On their way to the dungeons Marcus couldn’t stop turning around and glancing behind him – but of course he couldn’t even see a shadow. “You’d better stop doing that, you do look quite suspicious,” Potter’s voice came from his left and Marcus whirled around – all the time he had thought Potter were _behind_ him. He heard a soft laugh. “I got you with that one, didn’t I?”

Marcus didn’t dignify that with an answer and barked the password at the entrance of their Common Room. Curfew was near, but of course that didn’t mean that the Common Room would be empty – students were lounging about, reading or doing homework or playing cards or chatting and laughing quietly. Marcus gave them a look of general disdain and walked up the stairs to his dorm.

No one was inside, yet Potter only took the invisibility cloak off when both of them had settled down on his bed and Marcus had put up a few silencing and privacy spells in addition to the ones that were already on his bed. “Doesn’t anyone question why you go to bed before curfew?” Potter asked curiously. “Ron’d surely question my sanity if I did.”

“No one questions _me_ ,” Marcus said drily and Potter laughed at that. “So?” he said then. “What’d you do?”

“Well, first of all Hermione found out how she did it – Skeeter’s an illegal animagus – she’s a bug, which kinda figures.”

Marcus snorted. “Suits her. Hadn’t come upon that idea though – I had checked out the… _more_ illegal ways.”

Potter grinned at him, toying with Marcus’ tie. “I kind of like it when you say things like that,” he admitted freely, “it is… somehow arousing.” Now _that_ was to Marcus’ liking and he let his hand slip over Potter’s throat, scratching the skin ever so lightly, and Potter gave a small sound of contentment.

“Anyway,” he continued, slightly breathless, “this is how she got in and out of the castle. Now we only needed a way of detecting her when she spied on me and Hermione came up with the idea of putting a spell that reveals animagi into a Red Receptacle.”

“Red Receptacle, yes?” Marcus asked with a frown. “You do know this potion is illegal, right?”

“It’s not _that_ illegal,” Potter said, laughing as if that was some kind of private joke, “not as illegal as other potions.”

Marcus snorted. “Not goody two-shoes, are you?”

“I never said we were,” Potter said, grinning at him, “you don’t even know some of the other stuff we did.”

“So?” Marcus prompted.

“Well, maybe I’d better not tell you, with you being a prefect and all that,” Potter said, but there was a huge grin on his face.

“Well, maybe I’d better not fuck you then, with you being a rule-breaker and all that,” Marcus drawled; and casually he popped the first button on Potter’s collar open.

Potter’s breath sped up a bit, but he grinned at him. “So in our second year, when the Chamber of Secrets was opened, everyone suspected me, remember?”

Marcus shrugged. “I didn’t. Nothing about that made sense – besides, you were a Second Year, how could anyone even be afraid of you?”

“Thanks,” Potter said drily, skidding slightly closer to him, “but anyway, _we_ suspected Malfoy.”

“Malfoy? That little brat?” Marcus laughed.

“Yes, we did and we decided to question him. But as he would hardly tell us the truth, we had to come up with a cunning plan on how he would tell us the truth without him realizing. So we came upon this book _Most Potente Potions_ and decided to brew the Polyjuice Potion for that. It took us a few weeks up to Christmas and –”

Marcus dropped his hand from Potters now half laid-bare chest and stared at him incredulously. “You brewed _Polyjuice?_ You were – what, fourteen?”

“Well, Hermione did most of the brewing, Ron and I only assisted her,” Potter said. “And then we took it, but Hermione accidentally used a cat hair and so she had to go the Hospital Wing –”

“You actually _drank_ it?”

“Yes, of course,” Potter said, “Ron turned into Crabbe and I turned into Goyle and we went down to the Common Room to question Malfoy. Turns out he wasn’t even Slytherin’s heir and all of it had been for naught.”

Marcus shook his hand. “You are insane. You and your friends, you have lost your minds.”

Potter snickered and skidded so close now his knees touched Marcus’. “You wanted to know, remember?”

“Do I want to know more?” Marcus asked and let his hand slip over Potter’s thigh. He _wanted_ to know more, but he also wanted to fuck Potter till he screamed.

Potter spread his legs with a sigh at Marcus’ touch and let his head loll back. “Not sure,” he murmured, his voice hoarse with arousal, “but I think you should know that…” He moaned when Marcus kissed his throat and ripped open his shirt. “… that Hermione, Ron and I are not good little Gryffindors and…”

“I gathered that much, yes,” Marcus said, but he had to break off, too, when Potter slipped onto his lap and hastily unbuttoned his shirt, his hands warm and greedy on Marcus’ chest. With a moan he closed his eyes when Potter kissed his throat and his collar bones, and kissed his way down his chest to his abs; and then his hot breath was on the height of his crotch and he opened Marcus’ pants with skilled fingers; and he took his cock into his hand, stroking up and down its length.

“I missed this,” he murmured, kissing Marcus’ neck heatedly, “I missed this so much. I missed you.”

He gave an undignified yelp when Marcus grabbed him by the hips and threw him onto his back, but then he grinned and stretched out comfortably, as if lying down for a nap. “Impatient, are you?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Marcus snarled – he was not impatient, he only wanted to fuck Potter _now_.

Potter laughed. “Oh yes, you are. Come here… Marcus.” Marcus found it weird that Potter insisted on calling him by his first name – it felt more intimate than it should – which was even weirder since Marcus had done a lot _more_ intimate things with Potter by now, and yet, calling him by his first name felt as if a last barrier between them was breaking down.

He didn’t care now, though; so he knelt over Potter, propping himself up on his elbows left and right of Potter’s chest; and Potter wrapped his arms around his neck and kissed him so wildly that all of his surroundings lost any significance. The only things that mattered were Potter’s sweet, hot mouth; and his warm, lithe body, pressed against his own; and his soft, throaty moans; and his hand that snuck down between their bodies.

Marcus could feel Potter open his own pants and he groaned deeply when he felt Potter’s cock rubbing against his own; and then Potter wriggled beneath him, indicating that Marcus should roll over and so he did. He knew that Potter liked to be on top of him when they fucked whereas he didn’t really care about their position that much; the thing that mattered was that they _were_ fucking, not how they did it.

Potter scrambled for his wand and murmured a hasty lube spell on Marcus fingers, sitting up now, his legs spread over Marcus’ torso, his eyes closed and his cheeks flushed. He didn’t have to ask Marcus for it because Marcus already stroked along his thighs and Potter gave a small whimper when Marcus pushed his first finger into him.

Watching Potter during this was one of Marcus favourite things in this; his face was like an open book to read. Marcus loved how he whimpered every time he moved his fingers; and he loved how a deep shiver ran through him, his hands clenching and his toes curling when Marcus had found that point inside him; and he loved the way his lashes fluttered over half-closed eyes, dark with lust; and he loved that he was trembling with arousal, sweat glistening on his flushed skin.

“Oh please,” Potter moaned; he was moving up and down on Marcus’ fingers now, his head lolling backwards and his voice unsteady, “oh please.” His breath hitched in his throat when Marcus removed his fingers and grabbed him by the hips – he knew that Potter liked it when he grabbed him liked that – not only because Potter had told him so several times by now – but also because of the way his breath sped up and his whole body tensed and his legs spread even further.

“Ready?” Marcus murmured and Potter nodded shakily, his eyes closed, and carefully, Marcus pushed into him, groaning at the sensation, he was _so_ tight and _so_ hot; Potter gave a whimper of pleasure, his fingers digging into Marcus’ forearms, and then he pushed himself down. Marcus always wanted to be careful, but more often than not Potter thwarted his plans with his impatience; and there he did it again, moving up and down faster than he should, and moaning.

It didn’t take Marcus long to make him scream; and Marcus loved it when he screamed because then he knew that he had hit that point inside him, _there he was_ ; Potter was leaning slightly backwards now, his back arched and his head lolling from one side to the other; and he moved up and down incredibly fast, making Marcus moan with his every move because it felt so incredibly _good_ ; and then Potter came with a hoarse scream, his muscles clenching around Marcus’ cock rhythmically; and yet he kept on moving, crashing his hips against Marcus’, whimpering; and then Marcus couldn’t hold himself back anymore, and he came, too, with a long, hoarse groan.

Potter slowed down his rhythm gradually, sinking down one last time so Marcus was buried inside him completely, before slipping off him and slumping down on top of him, panting. “That was amazing,” he murmured, scattering lazy kisses over Marcus’ throat.

Marcus gave an affirming grunt, pulling Potter close and listening to both their breaths slowing down. “You never did tell me what you did with Skeeter,” he said after a while. He then noted that Potter had goose-bumps all over his body and pulled the bedcovers over both of them.

With a soft laugh, Potter said: “So you still want to know then? I thought you had lost interest after you had interrupted me so.”

“You distracted me,” Marcus said and Potter only laughed at that.

“You do get distracted easily,” he remarked with a grin.

Marcus shrugged and Potter laughed once more, then he nuzzled his face against Marcus’ shoulder with a sigh. Marcus didn’t want to let go of him, yet he felt obliged to ask: “Don’t you have to return to your dorm?”

“I probably should,” Potter said, his voice slightly muffled, “but I don’t want to. I don’t want to leave, I want to stay with you.”

As a reply, Marcus only pressed a kiss to Potter’s neck – he didn’t want Potter to leave either. He had truly missed falling asleep with him in his arms – despite knowing that this could not, would not end well.


	21. Chapter 21

“You never did tell me what you did to Skeeter,” Marcus said. His arm was casually wrapped around Harry’s waist, but Harry knew that he’d be able to keep him in place with his arm if only he flexed his muscles – when he thought that Harry might try to evade his questioning, for example.

“I didn’t,” Harry admitted, stretching lazily in Marcus’ embrace. He had awoken to soft kisses all over his neck and torso and, before he had known what happened, Marcus had kissed him _everywhere_ , on his stomach, on his thighs, on his cock; and then he had casually flipped him around and Harry had expected to be fucked, but Marcus had continued his kisses on Harry’s back and on his bum and, _oh sweet Merlin_ , between his butt cheeks – Harry blushed again at the thought, he had never known before that anything could feel that amazing and he had reached his orgasm very fast, but he had still been that turned on that he had hardly been able to wait for Marcus to fuck him – he _might_ have rushed things a bit, but it ended up in a good kind of pain, throbbing between his legs and making him feel tired, but satiated.

“You want to hear it now?” he asked.

“Obviously,” Marcus drawled, “I can hardly wait to hear what three non-goody two-shoes Gryffindors could have done and whether I might have to give you detention for it.”

Harry snickered – that would be a detention he would look forward to. “So, we had the spell in the Red Receptacle and we discovered her in one of the corridors while we were alone, so I immobilized her and Hermione put her into an unbreakable jar and we decided to, er, deal with her where no one could see us, so we went to a classroom on the third floor. Hermione then told her that she would throw the jar – with her in it – into the Hogwarts Lake if she didn’t turn back as soon as we opened the jar. We all had our wands on her when she flew out and she actually _did_ turn back, but she tried to make a joke out of it, saying we were only children and we didn’t know what we were doing.

Hermione then pulled a potion vial with a Veritaserum-like potion from her bag – it was not Veritaserum, though, but I wouldn’t have put it past Hermione – but Skeeter obviously thought it was Veritaserum and she spilled her secrets when Ron mentioned that we happened to know the punishment for being an illegal animagus. You know, she has these fake jewels on her glasses that are actually tiny shards from a photo lens she has enchanted to record everything around her and they are around her eyes as a bug, too – that is actually _really_ clever, Hermione was very impressed because you normally can’t keep part of your clothing when you change into your animal – anyway, that is how she took the photos of… well, of Cedric and me.”

Marcus gave a grunt at that and kissed Harry, hard, as if to remind him that Cedric’d better be forgotten – as if Harry didn’t know that. “Then I told her to never write about me or any of my friends – or boyfriends, at that –” Something flashed in Marcus’ eyes at that, but he didn’t say anything and so Harry continued. “And not to come onto the Hogwarts grounds anymore, too. At first, she was of course not willing to, but then Netha poked her head out of my sleeve and suddenly, she was _very_ willing. Hermione then had her write down everything we had agreed on and sign it – on a special parchment that she had bewitched to make all of Skeeter’s hair fall out and never let it grow back again, should she not keep her promise. She was very meek after that.”

Marcus raised his eyebrows. “Who would’ve thought that three little Gryffindors could have that much criminal intent. That was almost… Slytherin.”

“Well, the Hat almost put me into Slytherin,” Harry said, grinning at him. “And while Hermione never said anything about it, I think the Hat considered Slytherin for her, too.”

“Why didn’t he put you into Slytherin, then?” Marcus asked, a sudden rough edge to his voice.

“I chose Gryffindor,” Harry admitted, “I knew that Malfoy was in Slytherin and I was very sure that I didn’t want to be in a House with him – besides, I had heard quite some nasty stuff about Slytherin.”

“Just imagine,” Marcus said then, his voice hoarse, “just imagine what could have become of you if you had gone into Slytherin.”

“Are you not happy with what has become of me as a Gryffindor?” Harry asked softly.

There was a short silence, then Marcus said abruptly: “We need to get out of bed, it is very late already. Hurry up, Potter.” He opened the curtains a bit, peeking out, and stood up when he had obviously deemed the situation to be safe.

A short Tempus confirmed to Harry that they were indeed very late, so he hastily jumped out of bed and picked up his clothes; and yet he couldn’t help but wonder what Marcus might have said, hadn’t he interrupted himself.

xXx

Nervously, Ron glanced at his watch – Harry _still_ hadn’t shown up. Professor Flitwick had started with the lesson already and Hermione was fidgeting in her seat. “You should have woken him,” she whispered – Ron had told her that Harry had wanted to sleep in today (as opposed to not having been in the dorm all night) – he hadn’t wanted her to worry about him because he knew that she worried about Harry all the time anyway. And, he thought, Harry owed him one for that – for example he ought to tell Ron what he had been up to last night.

In this very moment, the door opened and Harry slipped in, out of breath and with his hair dishevelled. He tried to get to his usual place between Ron and Hermione without attracting attention, but Professor Flitwick called out to him. “You are quite late today, Mr. Potter.”

“I’m sorry, Professor,” Harry said, settling down, “I forgot about the time.”

“That will be ten inches more for your homework today, Mr. Potter. Please try to be on time for the next lesson.”

“Yes, Sir,” Harry said in his best fake-meek voice that made Hermione frown.

“Where have you been?” Hermione hissed under her breath.

“I’m sorry I didn’t wake you, mate,” Ron said, giving Harry a meaningful look, “you told me yesterday you’d like to sleep late, so I let you.”

“It’s fine,” Harry said after a few seconds. “I was just really tired, I guess.” He gave Hermione a sheepish smile and produced his Charms book from his bag.

After Charms, Hermione hurried off to Arithmancy whereas Ron and Harry strolled towards the Divination classroom at a much more sedated pace. “So, you owe me one, mate, for not ratting you out,” Ron said casually, making sure that no curious ears were about, “where have you been last night?”

Harry grimaced. “I was, er, about.”

“Obviously,” Ron said drily. “Maybe I should rather ask with _whom_ you have been last night.”

Harry flinched. “No one,” he said after a few seconds.

Ron rolled his eyes at him. “C’mon, Harry, don’t play stupid with me.”

“Does Hermione know?” Harry asked, fidgeting with the seam of his sleeves.

“No,” Ron said, “I mean she doesn’t know about last night, but both Hermione and I know that there is something going on with you, Harry. You are… obvious. You have a new… boyfriend, don’t you?”

Harry gave a deep sigh. “He’s not… he’s not my boyfriend. But I guess we are dating, in a way, yes.”

Although Ron supposed Harry would not answer that question, he still asked: “Who is he?”

“I can’t tell you, Ron, I’m sorry. It’s really complicated and… I just can’t. I promised.”

How Harry always managed to land himself in difficult situations without being able to tell someone about it because it had to be _secret_ , Ron would never know. “You sure you don’t want to talk about it?” he asked nevertheless despite knowing that trying to extricate a secret from Harry was foredoomed.

Harry pulled a grimace. “I would, Ron, I just… I just can’t. I wish I could, but I promised to keep it secret and… well.”

“Yeah, it’s fine,” Ron said, “I don’t mean to pester about it. But, mate, if you really need someone to talk, you know I’ll be there for you. Also, if _I_ think that he – whoever he is – is hurting you then Hermione and I will make _his_ life a _misery_.”

“Oh Ron, you’re the best mate anyone could wish for,” Harry said, throwing his arm around Ron’s shoulders.

Ron grinned at him. “That is a good thing because you’ll surely be willing to let me borrow your Firebolt this afternoon, won’t you?”

xXx

Harry was curious to see what Marcus had in mind for him – he had written him a short note this morning, delivered by a school owl, to meet him on the fifth floor next to the statue of Boris the Bewildered at nine o’clock.

There he already stood, waiting for him, arms crossed and scowling into the darkness, but his expression softened when he glimpsed Harry jogging towards him. “Hey,” Harry said quietly, giving him only the shortest of kisses, but Marcus already stepped away.

“Not in public,” he growled. “Pinefresh,” he then said to the fourth door to the left of the statue and the door swung open silently.

They stepped into a huge bathroom with an enormous tub – more of a pool, in fact, as it was quite huge and sunk into the ground with what looked like a hundred golden taps around it; and on the wall behind it was a huge picture of a sleeping mermaid. The room was dipped in soft pink light from the lustre at the ceiling. “What is _this_?” Harry breathed, but instead of answering, Marcus pulled him in for a long, deep kiss.

“It’s the prefects’ bathroom,” he said when their kiss was finished. “Thought you knew it.”

“No,” Harry said, “why would I?”

“I thought Diggory might’ve taken you here to fuck you,” he replied, his voice dark.

Marcus could be so _crude_ , but Harry liked it; somehow, it was so refreshingly unexpected. “No, he hasn’t,” he just said and Marcus grinned.

“Good, ‘cause I’ve fantasized about fucking you right here, in the water; glad it hasn’t come true with Diggory yet,” he said, his voice rough now.

A shiver ran down Harry’s spine – Marcus saying these things in that voice always awoke his arousal. “So? You getting started then?” he drawled, taking a step towards the tub. Marcus caught him by his waist, though, and pulled him back.

“Not so fast, Potter,” he growled, pulling him into another kiss while impatiently tugging at Harry’s clothes.

Harry had no idea how many of his clothes Marcus had already torn (he considered himself an expert in mending spells now), but there was something incredibly arousing about the fact that Marcus wanted him so much he was too impatient to remove his clothes the way they were supposed to, but ripped them off his body instead – and Harry loved it.

So he offered no resistance when Marcus tore his shirt open, kissing and biting along his throat and chest and stomach; and pulling him towards the tub.

Off went his shoes and socks, pants and boxers; and Marcus’ clothing met the same fate; and then they climbed in. The water was blissfully warm and Marcus settled himself on the bench that went along the side of the pool, pulling Harry onto his lap for lazy kisses that became more passionate very quickly, and Marcus slipped his hand between Harry’s thighs.

“Wait,” Harry murmured, “I want to enjoy the location a bit.” Marcus gave an unwilling grunt, but he let go of him and Harry slipped from his lap, swimming around the pool a bit.

He was curious to see what the taps might be for and turned on one of them, laughing in surprise when hundreds of tiny blue bubbles popped out. From the next one, there were enormous white bubbles that exploded with a fruity smell when he touched them. Even more curious now, he turned on all of the taps – there were bubbles of all shapes and sizes in every colour of the rainbow; some played a melody when they burst; some floated through the air like colourful clouds; others glittered like tiny stars –

“Potter,” Marcus said impatiently, “come here.”

“Impatient?” Harry teased him with a grin; Marcus frowned and tried to grab him, but as Harry was far enough from him (and had anticipated the move) he evaded Marcus’ hands; but it didn’t take Marcus very long to catch him by the waist and pull him close.

“Not impatient,” he growled, but the way he grabbed Harry’s chin and kissed him roughly, pressing him against the tiles, told Harry that Marcus might be more than a bit impatient. He didn’t mind at all, though, responding to the kiss eagerly and shifting into a more comfortable position; and enjoying the feeling of Marcus’ hot, hard and muscular body against his own, and the way his erection pressed against Harry’s thigh.

Then, Marcus grabbed him by the hips, lifting him out of the water and settling him on the bathroom floor – and once more, Harry couldn’t deny that he loved it when Marcus lifted him up like that, as if he weighed nothing. His breath hitched in his throat when Marcus climbed out of the tub and knelt over him, pressing him onto the cold tiles and drawing a pattern of fiery kisses over his torso. Mostly whenever they fucked, Marcus lay on his back and Harry was on top of him, but there _was_ something very arousing about lying under Marcus, he thought, and about the feeling of his heavy body above him.

“Marcus,” he said hoarsely; Marcus was tormenting him and he knew it, “Marcus, _please_.”

“Yes?” he drawled, holding Harry’s hips down when Harry tried to press himself against his body.

“I want you to fuck me,” Harry breathed; and something flashed in Marcus’ eyes; and he pulled him in for such a wild kiss Harry was completely out of breath when he let go of him again.

“I like it when you’re naked and wet and willing,” Marcus said in a low voice that made Harry shiver with want. Impatiently, he fumbled for his wand in his trousers that were, along with the rest of his clothes, haphazardly piled on top of his bag.

There it was and Harry just opened his mouth when his bag toppled over, his belongings tumbling out – among them the Golden Egg, which cracked open; and immediately the horrible screeching began once more – Harry had taken to carrying the Egg with him wherever he went, hoping epiphany might hit him sometime if only he constantly had the Egg with him.

“What the fuck?” Marcus bellowed over the screeching and Harry tried to grab the Egg, but his fingers were so slippery with soap it slipped from his hands and rolled into the water.

“Oh no,” Harry moaned, fearing the Egg might be broken, but suddenly there was no screeching anymore, but a choir of beautiful, eerie voices.

 _“Come seek us where our voices sound,_  
_We cannot sing above the ground,_  
_And while you're searching ponder this;_  
_We've taken what you'll sorely miss,_  
_An hour long you'll have to look,_  
_And to recover what we took,_  
_But past an hour, the prospect's black,_  
_Too late, it's gone, it won't come back._ ”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harry asked when the song was finished. “What is it about? What kind of voices are those? We cannot sing above the ground… must be some kind of thing that lives under water, isn’t it?”

Marcus shrugged, his gaze fixed on the Egg which Harry had scooped out of the water again.

“What lives under water and can sing?” Harry wondered – fish obviously couldn’t sing, but… “ _Merpeople_ ,” he breathed. “Those are merpeople singing. But I don’t know anything about them – where does the nearest colony live?”

“I don’t know much about them either, but everyone knows there’s a colony in the Lake,” Marcus said.

“Oh, really?” Once more Harry wondered how many more species of magical beings might live on Hogwarts grounds – and if he would yet encounter them all before he finished school – but, he guessed, he had already met his fair share of them. “So, they will take something from me? But what? And how would they do it? I mean they can’t even walk.”

“Remember, Potter, this is staged,” Marcus said drily. “Obviously it won’t be the merpeople themselves.”

“Yeah, right.” Harry turned the Golden Egg in his hands, frowning at it. “And I have to get down to them and bring back whatever they took, right? Only… how am I supposed to do that? D’you happen to have any brilliant ideas?”

Marcus shrugged. “Dunno, never thought about it. But I guess there are spells for it. We can look them up if you like.”

“We?” Harry asked. “As in, you and me?”

“Obviously,” he said with a frown.

“I just wasn’t expecting you to actually help me,” Harry said, more than a bit surprised.

“Don’t want you to drown, do I?”

Harry smiled at that; and then Marcus pulled him into a kiss; and within minutes, the Egg was forgotten.


	22. Chapter 22

“Guys, I need your help,” Harry said. He was in the Library with Ron and Hermione, seated comfortably at their favourite table – it was at the end of the Library, in the section for History of Magic (a subject that was not very popular, oddly enough) and conveniently out of view of Madam Pince’s strict gaze. They had been working on their Herbology essays – well, in truth Hermione had been working on it whereas Harry and Ron had tried to decipher what she was writing and copy it in clandestine ways.

Neither of them seemed to mind the sudden change of subject, though, because both of them immediately dropped their feathers. “Yes?” Hermione asked. “It’s about the Second Task, I assume? I had planned to ask you about your progress just tonight.”

“Yeah, I found out what the Task is,” Harry said in a low voice and both leant in closer when he told them what he had discovered – without mentioning Marcus and their little… adventure, naturally.

“How’d you chance upon the idea of putting the Egg under water?” Ron asked curiously. “It would be the last thing I would have come up with.”

“Well, it was more of an accident,” Harry admitted. “I dropped it into the water whilst taking a bath.”

“Where did you take a bath?” Hermione asked with a frown.

“Uh, in the Prefects’ Bathroom,” Harry murmured. “I, uh… Cedric gave me the password back then and I thought a relaxing bath might be the right thing these stressful days.”

“Fred and George mentioned that one before, apparently it’s really fancy – what’s it like?”

After Harry had described the bathroom in great detail, Ron exclaimed in awe: “Wicked! I wish I could be Prefect next year.”

Hermione raised her eyebrows at that. “Yes, you as the most rule-abiding student in our year would be perfectly suited for the task.”

“Don’t play the good girl, you are not the most rule-abiding student in our year either,” Ron said, giving her a slight playful shove which made her murmur “alright, alright”.

“Well, I’m not suited for the task either,” Harry said drily. “Anyway, guys, any ideas?”

“How long is it till the Task?” Ron asked. “I forgot the dates.”

“On the third of March, one week after the Ball,” Harry replied immediately – not like _he_ could forget.

“Oh yeah right, the stupid Ball,” Ron groaned. “You already have a date?”

“No,” Harry said, staring down at his hands – he couldn’t ask Marcus, obviously, but he didn’t know whom else he could ask.

“It’ll work out,” Ron said awkwardly. “What about…?”

“Nah,” Harry interrupted him, “nah. Definitely not doing that.”

“We are talking about your new boyfriend – or the guy you are dating, I assume?” Hermione asked primly.

“How do you know?” Harry murmured.

“Well, it’s not that hard to figure out, Harry. You may also want to be more careful with buttoning up your collar, I can see that huge lovebite on your neck _very_ clearly.”

“He got more of them,” Ron said with a grin. “Do you want to know where they are? Two on his shoulder, one on his hip –”

“ _Ron!_ ” Harry hissed, blushing deeply and fumbling with his collar – he hated having it all buttoned up because he always felt like being strangled – he would have to tell Marcus not to give him lovebites on his neck anymore – although that would be a pity.

Ron snickered. “I’m going to take the piss out of you until you tell us about it, mate, there is no chance of me letting you off easily.”

“Anyway,” Harry said loudly, ducking his head at Madam Pince’s hiss and lowering his voice again, “anyway, what are we going to do about the Task?”

“We will look into it on Sunday,” Hermione decided. “Everyone of us will try to come up with ideas until then and then we can decide which ideas are worthy looking into and what will be the best course.”

“What would I ever do without you?” Harry asked with a sigh.

“You’d fail miserably at everything, mate,” Ron said, patting his shoulder and evading Harry’s shove easily.

xXx

_“Kneel,” he says, his voice high and cold. “How are the preparations going?”_

_“Everything is going as planned, my Lord. I have taken the necessary precautions and there should be no… obstacles in our way.”_

_He nods; finally he has found himself a competent servant; and yet, he is always forced to control his servants’ every step to make sure nothing goes amiss. If only he were stronger, if only… but the time is not ripe yet, and he has to wait. He has gotten used to waiting, by now, but he hates it more every day._

_“You have neglected to tell me about the Second Task. Does he know?”_

_“He does, my Lord,” his servant replies. His head is bent and he kneels on the floor perfectly still; a skill Wormtail has never managed to achieve._

_“Does he also know how to pass the Task?”_

_“Not yet, my Lord.”_

_“This is the important part,” he hisses. “He needs to know.”_

_“There is still enough time until the Task,” his servant says._

_He breathes in sharply – how dare his servant speak up to him?_ He _decides when the time is right. Such behaviour may not go unpunished – he may be weak, but he has enough strength for this._

_“Crucio!”_

xXx

Harry awoke screaming, arms and legs flailing – _he is strong, he does not scream yet, as Wormtail would_ – and he didn’t know where he was.

“Harry! Harry!” There were pale faces in the darkness, but his vision was blurred and his mind was on fire and he could not _think_ – _now he screams, he always knows how to make them scream_.

“Harry!” Someone grabbed his shoulder, shaking him wildly, and Harry felt as if he were pulled from darkness – darkness that clung to his thoughts like spider webs and left his mind only unwillingly. “Are you alright?”

“Ron,” he gasped – he was in his dorm, and the pale faces in the darkness were his classmates; and it had been a dream, nothing but a dream.

He felt bile rise in his throat when he stared down at his hands – they were his hands, but a second ago they had been like claws, with long, pointy fingernails, and a long, dark wand between his spidery fingers; and he had made him scream…

Harry blinked and shook his head. Who was _he_? He hadn’t made anyone scream, and yet he could hear the screams echo in the back of his mind, as clear as if the man – _there was no man_ – was writhing on the floor in front of him.

“Mate!” Ron snapped his fingers directly in front of his face. “Are you alright? D’you need help?”

“No,” Harry said hoarsely – he did not need fucking help because he was not going mad. He was not. There was no man and he had not made anyone scream. “I don’t need help, I mean. I’m fine, it was just… a really bad nightmare.”

“I’ve never heard anyone scream like that,” Neville said in a thin, trembling voice. “Are you sure you are alright? You sounded as if you were under…” He trailed off, swallowing audibly.

“I’m fine,” Harry repeated, shaking his head again. He was cold, but at the same time he could feel cold sweat running down his back. “I’m just… I think I’m gonna be sick.”

Just so he managed to sprint towards the bathroom and he knelt in front of the toilet, retching up his dinner. _I’m not going mad, I’m not going mad_ , he repeated in his head, pressing his forehead against cool porcelain, _I’m not going mad_. It had only been a dream – the most vivid dream he had ever had – and there had been no man and he had not tortured anyone; it was _not real_.

He lifted his head again, breathing deeply and trying to swallow down his nausea – there was a smear of blood on the white porcelain – _great_ , his scar was bleeding again. He wiped the blood away with his sleeve and splashed cold water from the sink into his face; partially to clear his mind, partially to clean the blood away.

“I think we should get Madam Pomfrey,” Neville said from somewhere behind him. “He… doesn’t look good.”

“I’m fine!” Harry barked, whirling around and regretting it instantly at Neville’s flinch – why was Neville so easy to hurt? “Guys, I appreciate it, I really do, but I am fine. It was just a really nasty nightmare, but there is no reason to get Madam Pomfrey involved. She would just keep me in the Infirmary for no reason at all – Ron, say something.”

Ron hesitated for a second, then he sighed. “Alright,” he said with a sigh. “Guys, leave it. If Harry says he’s fine, he’s fine. Let’s get back to bed and try to get as much sleep as we can.”

Seamus mumbled something under his breath, but Harry ignored him and turned to Neville. “Listen, Neville,” he said softly, “I didn’t mean to yell at you. But I’m fine and there is no reason to worry. You know how much I hate the Infirmary, don’t you?”

“I don’t think you are fine,” Neville said, his voice quiet, but firm. “But if you will.”

Harry gave him a shaky smile – that did nothing to soothe Neville, he feared – before crawling back into his bed.

He only fell asleep again when the sky paled and he had never wished more to be in Marcus’ arms than now because he had never felt that lonely.

xXx

“So, what did you come up with?”

Once more, they sat in the Library, in the History of Magic section, and Harry wished they could be outside, as the sky was clear and blue and it would be a perfect day for flying. He felt… unravelled, to be honest. He had a constant slight headache that turned into throbbing pain for no particular reason at odd times throughout the day, but he had mentioned it to neither Ron nor Hermione – he knew they would worry and he didn’t want them to.

Ron had luckily agreed not to tell Hermione about his nightmare, but he always looked at Harry with a slight frown and a sceptical look in his eyes as if he knew that Harry was hiding something.

“Not that much and I don’t know if any of it will work,” Harry admitted. “What about Muggle diving equipment? But I have no clue how it works and I don’t know _if_ it would work here anyway. And well, we can’t exactly get a submarine, can we?”

Hermione giggled. “I guess we can’t, but it would be hilarious.”

“Well, and I thought about some kind of spell pattern, but I have no idea how to make the spells that strong and that long-lasting – well, there is the Red Receptacle, but I guess I shouldn’t use that one.”

“Definitely not,” Ron agreed. “But I thought about it as well. Maybe you could, like, I dunno, hide it somehow? But you’d be in real trouble if they found you out. And… well, Bill mentioned that sometime ago, there is apparently a thing like partial animagus transformation – apparently, some Egyptian wizards can turn the upper half of their body into a snake’s body which they use when they have to get into really tiny caverns while treasure-hunting, but I guess you can’t learn that in a few weeks.”

“Those are good ideas,” Hermione said with a smile and Ron blushed fiercely at her compliment, “I hadn’t even thought about partial animagus transformation; that sounds highly fascinating. But, as you said, I’m afraid that neither of these methods are… practical. So, I looked into potions and there is the Aquarius potion that allows you to breathe under water, but only for five minutes and we’d have to raid Snape’s provisions for that one as well, I fear. And you can’t dose it high enough for it to last longer, you’d die from poisoning then. I also thought about spell patterns, but I don’t know if we can come up with one that would actually work.”

“What about drying spells?” Harry suggested. “I just remembered reading about them the other day.”

“You’re not strong enough to dry the whole Lake, mate,” Ron said with a frown.

“I suspect you might actually be,” Hermione objected. “You _are_ a very powerful wizard, Harry, but chances are high that you would end up in a coma because of magical exhaustion and I’d rather not risk that.”

“Rather not,” Harry agreed. “I just thought… don’t laugh, it’s really stupid, what about doing… Moses?”

“That would actually be fabulous!” Hermione exclaimed. “I hadn’t even thought about that – but I don’t think it is possible. I can’t think of any spell that might _part_ water… wind spells would be too messy and drying spells don’t work that way and… well, I don’t think it will work, but it would be _brilliant_.”

“What are you talking about?” Ron asked with a frown.

“It’s a Muggle thing,” Harry and Hermione chorused and Ron rolled his eyes.

“Alright, alright. Anyway, what do we do?”

“I think our best chance might be looking into a spell pattern,” Harry said hesitatingly. “So I think we should look up spells concerning water and spells concerning breathing and… just figure out a way to put them into a pattern?”

“We should do that,” Hermione agreed.

“I don’t know anything about spell patterns, but I can look up spells, too,” Ron offered.

“Yes, let’s do that,” Hermione said. “I’ll pick up some books.”

Harry and Ron left that to her because Hermione had this unnatural skill of always picking the right books – well, so far, at least.

Ron rubbed his eyes, looking out of the window. “Pity we have to spend this day in the Library,” he said.

“I know, I’m sorry,” Harry murmured. “I wish you didn’t have to go with me through this.”

Ron patted his back. “Don’t worry, mate, Hermione and I willingly went with you to face a Cerberus, and I went with you to face a Basilisk and Hermione went with you to face a mass murderer, so a bit of reading can’t really put us off. Anyway, while she’s gone, I’ve been thinking about the Ball and… well.” He swallowed audibly. “I haven’t asked anyone yet and I… thought maybe I could, y’know…”

“I think she would say yes,” Harry said with a smile. “I mean, I don’t really know, what exactly is going on between you two, but go ahead. I think she’s waiting for you to ask, actually.”

Ron cleared his throat noisily and sat up straight when Hermione approached their table again, a considerable amount of books stacked in her arms. “Here we go,” she said, panting slightly. “That should keep us busy for a while.”

“Why didn’t you call us to help you carry the books?” Ron asked with a frown.

“Oh, that’s nice, Ron, but I put a featherlight charm on them when Madam Pince wasn’t looking.”

Ron shook his head. “And you want to be Prefect.”

Hermione blushed a bit and shoved a book into Ron’s unsuspecting hands. “Let’s get to work.”

They worked in silence for a while, the only sound that of pages rustling and the scratching of feathers when either of them took notes on a spell.

“Hermione?” Ron blurted suddenly.

She blinked at him in surprise. “Yes?”

“Can… can I ask you something?”

“Yes, Ron, what is it?”

“Well, you know, the Ball is coming up and I haven’t got anyone to go with yet and I thought… maybe… you would like to go with me?” He swallowed and blushed fiercely.

There were a few moments of tense silence, then Hermione pinched her lips. “If you had not waited so long to ask me, I would have gone with you, yes. But as it is, I already I have a date.”

“No, you _don’t_ ,” Ron said. “Who would… who are you going with?”

“Who would ask me out, you mean?” she asked shrilly, her cheeks tinged red. “Who would be willing to put up with my presence for a whole evening, you mean? Who would ask me out, the ugly hare-teeth know-it-all, you mean? Well, as it is there happens to be a man who has asked me out – and not because he couldn’t find anyone else – and I said _yes_.”

“No fighting in the Library!” Madam Pince called from her desk.

“I’m leaving and don’t you _dare_ come after me,” Hermione hissed, slamming her book down onto the table, throwing her bag over her shoulder and rushing off before neither Ron nor Harry could even say a word. Harry heard her sob as her steps trailed off between the shelves.

Ron turned to look at Harry incredulously. “She’s lying,” he said. “She doesn’t have anyone.”

“I don’t think she is lying,” Harry said. “You really did fuck that one up.” He hadn’t thought that it might play out that badly – he had thought Hermione would say yes and he had in fact been looking forward to a date between his two best friends – it would have been about bloody time. He felt sorry for Ron, but for Hermione as well – why did they both have to be so bloody stubborn? He was really not looking forward to the next days – probably he’d have to play buffer between these two _again_.

“Did _you_ know that she already had a date?” Ron asked him, brows furrowed in suspicion.

“ _I_ certainly didn’t,” Harry defended himself. “She never even said a word to me.”

“Well, bloody hell,” Ron cursed, closing his book shut. “What a terrific day. Mate, I think I’ll be leaving, too, I can’t think about bloody spells now– and this is useless without Hermione anyway.”

Harry agreed and decided to go for a fly instead – the sky was turning dark and maybe he could ask Marcus if he wanted to go for a fly with him – he’d send him a quick owl and maybe Marcus had come up with an idea already – but mainly Harry just wanted to spend his time with him because he _missed_ him.

xXx

“What are you going to do at the Ball?” Harry asked lightly. They sat in the Quidditch stands, hidden from sight behind a spectators’ tower; and both were comfortably exhausted from flying for about two hours. Harry didn’t know why, but he thought there was a certain thrill about flying in the darkness – it was not actually that dark; in a clear night like this; the moon and the stars spent enough light for racing about the Quidditch pitch – but not enough light to be discovered from the castle.

Marcus frowned. “What ball?”

“The Winter Ball, for the Tournament,” Harry said impatiently.

“Oh, that one,” Marcus replied vaguely. “Well, nothing. I’m not going. I thought we might use the opportunity and spend the evening together.” His hand, which had casually rested on Harry’s thigh before, slipped upward now, leaving no doubts about how he planned to spend the evening.

“Well, I have to go,” Harry said, scowling at the ground as if it were at fault for his misery. “McGonagall told me the Champions have to.”

Marcus shrugged. “You can spend the night after with me.”

“I have to go with someone,” Harry said. “With a partner, I mean. The Champions have to open and close the Ball with a dance.”

There were a few minutes of silence, then Marcus said harshly: “Well, whom you going with?”

“Dunno,” Harry murmured, playing with the seams of his cloak. Then he looked up at Marcus, not daring to ask because it was stupid and he would say no anyway.

Marcus frowned at him. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Harry sniffed and stood up. “Nevermind,” he said. “I’ll simply go with a random girl. Or maybe with Cedric, ‘cause he asked me,” he added after a few seconds and turned around to walk down the stairs – it had been stupid. Of course Marcus couldn’t go with him – even the very thought of it was absurd.

“Potter, stay” Marcus said sharply, grabbing his arm and pulling him back. He had straightened up to his full height, glaring down at Harry. “You will _not_ go with Diggory.”

Harry had to look up into his dark face as they stood very close. “Why not?” he asked, his tone challenging.

“He has no _right_ to go with you,” Marcus snarled, pulling Harry close. “And I don’t want you to go with a random girl either.”

“I _have_ to go with someone,” Harry pointed out. “And it will be either this or…”

“Or what?” Marcus growled. “Do you imagine _I_ could go with you?”

Harry bit his lip, not wanting to admit that he had actually hoped so, despite knowing better. But Marcus asking that way, as if the very idea was nothing but laughable, hurt and Harry wanted to hurt him back. “Of course not,” he said, “after all it is absurd to think a man who has been fucking me for months now might accompany me to a social event.”

“It _is_ ,” Marcus said.

“Of course,” Harry said; his eyes stung suddenly, and he rubbed them fiercely, “just as it is absurd to think that this very man might call me by my first name instead of calling me Potter, as if we were enemies still.”

Marcus froze and his grip on Harry’s arm loosened for a second which he used to tear himself free, jump onto his broom and take off as fast as he could.

After all, it had been a stupid idea.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: You guys I simply completely forgot to post this chapter, so the next one will be coming a lot sooner! xx

“LIAR!”

Ron, who had seated himself as far away as possible from Hermione in their little Gryffindor group, turned around to look at her and in the exact same moment, she turned around to look at him.

“Harry!” they said at the exact same moment and as if their fight had never happened, they jumped up from their seats and hurried outside, following Harry’s voice – both were very good at locating Harry’s voice, after years and years of experience.

Ron gasped in shock when they turned around a corner and Harry stood against a wall, his eyes blazing and his teeth bared. Only inches before him stood Marcus fucking Flint, tall and burly and looming over Harry like a tower. “You’re a fucking liar!” Harry hissed.

Ron flinched when Flint slammed Harry into the wall, one of his big hands pinning Harry’s wrists against the wall, the other on Harry’s throat. “You shut up,” he snarled. “Fucking little Gryffindor with fucking stupid ideas –”

“You didn’t even bother –” Harry broke off when Flint pressed Harry even more against the wall and suddenly their faces were very close and for one absurd moment Ron thought Flint might kiss Harry, but then Hermione’s voice cut through the air.

“Harry!”

Flint whirled around and Ron shivered at the expression on his face – he really didn’t want to meet Flint alone in the darkness – he made even Snape look tame – Harry however didn’t seem to be the least bit afraid, only furious. Then, suddenly, as if he had burned himself, he let go of Harry, turned on his heels and stormed off, his steps heavy. “Liar!” Harry yelled at him. “You fuck off, don’t you even dare –”

He broke off when Hermione touched his shoulder carefully. “Are you alright?” she asked, sounding worried.

Harry seemed to realize only now that Ron and Hermione were here and turned around to face them; and Ron swallowed at the look on his face – he had seen Harry furious before, but his current expression reminded him very clearly why so many people were afraid of Harry – he could be very scary, that much was true.

“What is going on here?” Seamus’ voice asked from behind them and Ron turned his head to see that not only their fellow Gryffindors, but a lot of more students had arrived.

“Nothing,” Harry said shortly, running his hand through his hair – as he always did when he was nervous, as Ron knew.

“What did Flint want?” he asked with a frown.

Harry stared at him for a few seconds as if the question had taken him completely by surprise. “He said some things about my parents he’d better not have said,” he replied after a rather long pause; and without saying anything else, he turned around and stormed off before either Ron or Hermione could even say a word.

“What on earth was that?” Hermione asked him with a frown – she seemed to have forgotten that they were currently not on speaking-terms – but Ron could only shrug.

“I have no idea,” he said and she sighed.

“Let’s try and talk to him,” she said; and their fight was forgotten as they spent all day fluttering around Harry who wouldn’t say a word all day – Harry was surely not the most talkative person at the best of times, but today Harry didn’t speak at all, he didn’t answer their questions, he didn’t answer teachers’ questions, he just didn’t say anything at all; and after dinner, he went straight to bed and after Ron had checked on him for the third time within an hour he came back to Hermione at the fireplace and he saw that she was writing Harry’s potions essay for him, her forehead wrinkled in deep concentration as she wrote each letter as Harry would, an old essay of his next to her for comparison.

“Don’t say anything,” Hermione said before he could even say anything. “It’s just… I’m really worried about him.”

“Me too,” Ron said. “Make a spelling error into asphodel root, Harry always writes it without the h.”

“Thanks,” she said, erasing the last words she last words she had written carefully, and then she looked up, giving him the shortest smile.

Maybe not all was lost between them yet, Ron thought, because if there was one thing they would always agree on, it was their worry about Harry.

xXx

“What is it, Harry?” Hermione asked when Harry fidgeted on his seat restlessly during dinner, eating almost nothing despite being oddly hungry. His head hurt; but it was more of a dull, throbbing pain, which made concentrating impossible; and he was incredibly tired. Luckily, Hermione had given up her desperate tries of making him talk, but that didn’t mean she would stop watching him with a concerned frown on her face all day. Harry, however, had no desire at all to tell her about everything that had happened between Marcus – Flint, he corrected himself, he wasn’t Marcus anymore – and him – the other day, Flint had stopped him in the corridor and tried to apologize by kissing him (and Harry had to admit to himself that he had almost gotten him with that), but his reason had luckily kicked in just in time and he had remembered that Flint was an arsehole who absolutely did not deserve Harry’s attention and that there was really no need for Flint to tell Harry that Harry was more than just a fuckbuddy to him because Harry knew that this was not true and Harry wouldn’t let himself be played by Flint _again_.

His wrist, where Hades usually bit him, had itched all day and with sudden frustration, he scratched his arm more forcefully than he had intended to; and the scar opened once more; and now there was a thin trickle of blood running down his wrist.

“Harry!” Hermione gasped, already drawing her wand, probably to speak a Healing Spell, but he shook his head.

Now, he knew. “Hades is calling me,” he said; he should have realized sooner, but he had been so caught up in his own misery he hadn’t paid any attention to the slight itch in his wrist which had gotten heavier throughout the day.

Hermione frowned at him. “How would you know?”

“I simply _know_ ,” Harry said.

“Harry, your relationship with this thestral is most unhealthy,” Hermione said, sounding worried, “why are you bleeding? What if the wound gets worse? What if –”

“Hermione,” Harry said, a bit annoyed, “I’m fine; I know what I’m doing. I’m off.”

He heard her calling his name, but he didn’t stop, hurrying up instead and running as soon as he had left the Great Hall. Hades was already waiting for him on the outside, his reptile like head turned towards the sky and the snowflakes. He turned his head, though, as soon as Harry had stepped outside and spread his huge wings.

Harry hurried to him and Hades allowed him to stroke his snout for a moment before touching his wrist again. _The time has come_ , he whispered.

 _The time for what?_ Harry asked. Sometimes the thestral’s cryptic way of speaking (or thinking or whatever) was so confusing – but maybe Hades thought the same things of him, he didn’t know.

_I wish to show you something._

His teeth chattering slightly, Harry climbed the thestral’s back; and Hades spread his wings and rose – Harry loved that moment – he never felt so light, so free, not even on his broom. Hades’ wings beat strongly, but not very fast and still they moved faster than his Firebolt could.

He didn’t know for how long they flew –he seemed to lose any sense of time whenever he was with the thestral; but after what seemed to be a not very long time, Hades rapidly flew lower and lower; and only metres above the ground, he slowed down and landed gracefully and silently on the ground.

Harry had no idea where they were – in a dark and lonely street, completely silent. Nothing in this place felt familiar. He turned around, wondering what he was supposed to do here, when he felt attracted by a small gate which led to shabby piece of land – slowly, he stepped nearer, his fingers touching the gate – and he gasped when the gate opened and the shabby grounds turned into a beautiful, overgrown garden and a huge house. Suddenly, he knew where they were.

His parents’ home. _His_ home.

He could not truly remember anything, of course, but still it felt as if he suddenly knew everything – the bushes, heavy and weighed down with snow, the intertwined paths, the huge house with the ugly wound – that was where his parents had died and where Voldemort had been defeated. The right part of the house looked like a giant’s fist had slammed it in while the other half of the house looked to be untouched.

Slowly, he walked to the door – he didn’t know what he had expected, when he stepped in; devastation, he supposed, but everything was neat and looked as if someone had left only minutes ago. Stasis spells, he knew, and yet it felt like his parents might walk into the kitchen any moment, alive and young and maybe chatting softly and then they would turn around and look at him and –

Harry curled his hands into fists and walked into the next room, swallowing the thick lump in his throat.

There was no dust, no rubble, just a perfectly normal house – it reminded him of the Burrow, although it was considerably tidier. Harry touched chairs and tables, touched immobilized pictures (there were none of his parents) and plates, touched veils and windows – it was not even cold in here, he realized, as his frozen fingers slowly began to thaw.

He couldn’t stop his feet from leading him upstairs – there was a half-open door to a bedroom which had once been his parents’, he supposed, as there was a double bed; the wall behind the bed was gone so the room was lit by the moon and the stars. And the room next to that must be the room where it happened, he thought; his bedroom when he had been a child – half the floor and two of the walls were ripped away; and there was a crib on the very edge of the floor.

He touched it, and with a creaking sound, it rocked back and forth, dangerously close to the edge. Here his mother had died, he thought, and suddenly he felt numb, somewhere here on the floor she must have fallen; he didn’t even know where his father had died, while trying to protect his mother and him.

Something touched his hand and he almost screamed, but it was only Hades who had followed him upstairs in complete silence. _Here our souls met for the first time_ , he heard the soft voice in his mind.

 _But that was years before you were born_.

 _Time is a human construct_ , the thestral whispered _. They need it to understand the world; but we who know the other world do not need it._

_What do you mean?_

_You know very well what I mean._

_What is it like?_ Harry wasn’t even sure if he wanted to know the answer, and suddenly he shivered, despite the room being oddly warm.

 _You will know when the day has come_ , Hades whispered.

_Are my parents in the other world? Have you seen them?_

_Your parents died and there is nothing that could bring them back_ , Hades said although that was not what Harry had asked.

Harry hesitated because it was obvious Hades wouldn’t answer his questions, but there was one more thing he needed to know. _Do you know when I will die?_

There was a slight pause. _I do._ A longer pause. _Fly with me now._

Still feeling numb and like out of this world, Harry obeyed and climbed onto the thestral’s back again who rose between the ruined walls of his childhood home. They did not fly far this time; and when Harry jumped to the ground he realized they were on a graveyard – and although he had never been here, he already knew that his parents lay here.

He followed Hades who led him between rows of tombstones; the thestral did not sink into the snow, prancing over the ground lightly whereas Harry could only walk very slowly as he sank in up to his ankles with every step.

There were his parents’ graves.

_Here lies James Potter, who gave his life for love and for all of us. May he rest in peace._

_Here lies Lily Potter, who gave her life for love and for all of us. May she rest in peace._

Harry fell to his knees, and he wanted to cry, but he couldn’t, there were no tears and there were no sobs, he just felt a numbing, overwhelming pain inside, like old, crusted wounds that had never properly healed were now ripped open again and he had never wished more desperately than now that his parents had not died so he might have had the chance of knowing and loving them.

He didn’t know for how long he knelt on the floor, the tombstones blurring before his eyes and the world tumbling around him; but he flinched when he felt Hades’ snout nuzzle his palm. _Remember_ , he whispered.

And Harry _remembered_. He remembered everything he should have remembered a long time ago. He remembered that his parents had died for _him_ , had died for love, had died in hope of a better world; in hope of a world without Voldemort. And their sacrifice mustn’t be forgotten, and Harry had to remember that some things were more important than others, things to fight for, things to suffer for, things to die for.

 _I felt you being upset_ , Hades whispered, _you have been uneasy for a long time now, my human; and when we are unsettled, we must return to where we came from to remember who we are_.

 _Thank you_ , he whispered, hugging Hades’ bony neck and stroking his snout. _Thank you for reminding me. I feel ashamed now._

_You need not be. You cannot always be strong, but sometimes you must remember. Remember what is important, remember where you need to direct your attention to. Death is close here, the air still tastes of it; here is where death touched your soul, here is where death gave you its task._

_What task,_ Harry whispered _._

_You know your task. Death has chosen you to bring back the one who fled when no one must flee._

_Voldemort._ Harry shivered in the cold and Hades rose his head towards the sky, his unsettling, white eyes looking at something Harry could not see _._

_This is what he calls himself; the one who flees of death, and you must bring him back._

_But how?_

_He is very close and you will find him._

_So he came back,_ Harry said although he had known _. I have seen him in my dreams._

 _He has never left._ Hades’ snout touched Harry’s scar for a second, and Harry flinched back with a gasp – it felt like an electric shock running through him, ripping up something inside him he hadn’t known existed. _He is very close_ , Hades said again.

_Do you know where he is?_

_I do_ , Hades said, _but he is in a place where you cannot reach him now. You must wait until the time is right_.

_How will I know when the time is right?_

Hades did not reply; instead he rose his head towards the dark sky; then he spread his wings and Harry climbed his back, hugging his neck tightly and closing his eyes. _I don’t even have flowers for my parents’ grave_ , he said suddenly, a sharp, overwhelming pain clawing at his heart and making him inhale harshly.

 _The dead do not need flowers_ , Hades said, and then he took off.

This time, he did not rejoice in the flight; his thoughts were too dark for that.

 _Sleep well, my human_ , Hades whispered when he landed silent as a shadow at the entrance to Hogwarts; and Harry climbed back down clumsily, murmuring a goodbye, before he stumbled back to the Gryffindor Tower, his mind whirling with thoughts and memories; and that night, he dreamed of Voldemort’s laugh and in his dream he was afraid, until a soft hand touched his shoulder and when he turned around, his Mum stood behind him, pale and smiling and beautiful, and she vanished when Harry rose his hand to touch her.


	24. Chapter 24

“Are you alright, Harry?” Hermione asked when she sat down next to Ron and Harry by their favourite table in the Common Room – Harry had been weird these days – well, judged by normal standards, Harry was probably always weird, but she had truly noticed a difference in the last days – he barely spoke a word now and he looked incredibly exhausted, the deep circles under his eyes a lot more noticeable than ever.

The oddest thing about all of this, however, was the fact that he was _willingly_ reading a book about divination – and one about Seeing in dreams which was one of the wonkiest branches on the wonky tree of divination as far as Hermione knew.

“I’m fine,” Harry said after a long while without looking up from his book.

“Really?” she asked. “Do you even sleep?”

“Don’t nag me, Hermione,” Harry said, still not looking up from his book.

“I’m not nagging you,” she said, “I am genuinely worried about your health.” She glanced at Ron who shook his head ever so slightly, indicating that, no, Harry was not sleeping. She did not really like having to play the role of Harry’s mother, but she felt like someone had to and it seemed like no one else was willing to take that role.

Harry sighed, finally lowering his book. “Hermione, I –”

“Don’t you try and make up any apologies,” Hermione said, not able to ban the shrill tone from her voice. “I know something is not alright – and that since that evening when you left with your thestral! What did you do?”

“We went to my parents’ grave,” Harry said unexpectedly.

“What?” Hermione asked, completely surprised. “You – what?”

“We went to my parents’ grave,” Harry repeated. “It was very… kind of him to take me there, I’ve never been there before, I didn’t even know they had proper graves, somehow I always assumed… nothing had been left.”

“What do you mean, you never went to your parents’ grave before?” Ron asked, sounding incredulous. “I’ve been there plenty of times, my parents used to take us with them when they brought flowers to their graves on Halloween, how is it even possible that you haven’t been there?”

“Well, how was I supposed to go?” Harry asked, sounding defensive.

“But… but didn’t your aunt and uncle take you?” Hermione asked – she knew Harry despised his aunt and uncle although he barely ever mentioned them, but surely they must have –

Harry laughed shortly. “They _hate_ my parents. I think they hate them even more than they hate me; they would probably dance on their grave or something.”

Hermione was so horrified by the thought that Harry had never before been at his parents’ grave, and at his nonchalance about the situation; and about his aunt’s and uncle’s hatred for him.

“I was joking,” he added when he saw her face. “Sorry. I’m sure they wouldn’t.” He didn’t seem convinced when he said that and he cleared his throat. “But it was good in a way to finally have been there.”

“But… but… Professor Dumbledore – surely he… he must have taken you there – why wouldn’t he?”

“I never asked him to,” Harry said, his voice slightly cooler at the mention of Professor Dumbledore’s name, “this is not something I would expect of them.”

“But – but my parents,” Ron said, “surely you could have asked them, they wouldn’t have minded, I know that –”

“I didn’t even know your parents knew my parents,” Harry said, “they were quite a few years apart in Hogwarts, weren’t they?”

“Yes, but my parents always spoke highly of your parents, they were good friends.”

“Well, now I have seen it,” Harry said, “so there is no need to discuss this any longer.”

“But – wouldn’t you want to return?” Hermione asked carefully. “To – to bring flowers or something? Maybe we can ask Professor McGonagall –”

“The dead don’t need flowers,” Harry interrupted her sharply. “I’m going to bed now, good night.” He stood up abruptly and almost fled from the Common Room.

xXx

Harry never would have thought he could ever be interested in Seeing in dreams, but the rather rampaged book he had borrowed from a very sceptical looking Madam Pince had proven to be quite… thought-provoking  – he had not understood the mechanics of dreams yet (and to be quite honest, most of the book was just incoherent nonsense, but of the good kind), but there were some chapters in it that were so interesting because they described exactly what he had dreamed of more than once now: to fall through a darkness without truly falling because he was caught in something that was neither liquid nor gas, but that dragged him down and thundered through his ears with a chorus of a thousand voices he did not know and he could not reach. He stopped walking and searched through his bag for a feather to mark a particularly interesting paragraph when, suddenly, something brushed past him and he was pushed into a wall so fiercely it felt like all air was pressed out of his lungs.

His first instinct was to reach for his wand, but before he could do so, someone grabbed his wrists, slamming them into the wall, and only now he realized that he was being pressed against the wall by Marcus – Flint, that was. “What –”

“Pay attention to your surroundings when you’re walking around the castle!” Ma – Flint snarled at him. “What if I had wanted to hurt you? Walking around with your nose in a book; who are you, the new Granger?”

“I – what do you want?”

“To apologize,” Flint said gruffly.

“Oh,” was the only thing Harry could say because he was so taken aback.

“I – I shouldn’t have… We are – you are the only person who has ever been kind to me and I – I didn’t mean to hurt you and – I suck at apologies – fuck it,” he cursed. “I’m sorry, okay Potter? Just don’t… be mad anymore.”

“How do you expect me not to be mad anymore?” Harry asked. “Just remember all the shit you’ve done to me and I _still_ stayed with you because I thought you – I thought we… nevermind what I thought, but how do you expect me to be not mad?”

Flint shrugged. “I miss you,” he said roughly.

“That was _not_ a good reason,” Harry said, raising his chin. “It’s nice we can now talk instead of yell at each other, but that does not mean I will fall for your shit ever again. And now leave me alone.” He tried to pull his hands from Flint’s grip, but his grip was like steel and instead of letting him go, Flint stepped even closer so their faces were only inches apart now.

“I’m sorry,” Flint said again. “Listen, Potter –” He broke off, clearing his throat. “Harry,” he said; it was the first time he called Harry by his first name and for some reason, it made an exciting, tingly shiver run through him that he did most certainly not need right now. “Harry,” he said again and Harry could feel his grip on his wrists loosen slightly so that Harry probably could have pulled his hands back, if he wanted to, but for some reason, he didn’t. “I never expected any of this to happen, okay,” Flint said hoarsely. “When I… when I received the order to put your name into the Goblet, I thought there was nothing more to it; the path of my future had always been very clear, but you shook everything that I believed I had known. I hadn’t even ever properly looked at you before that, I never expected to talk to you, I never expected to spend time with you, I never expected to kiss you, I never expected to…” He trailed off, clearing his throat.

“You never expected what?” Harry asked.

“Homosexuality does not exist in Pureblood society,” Flint said abruptly. “You have never heard of a gay pureblood, have you? This is because they don’t exist – they are not _allowed_ to exist. If I choose you, I lose everything else – my father will disinherit me, I will be rejected from my family, I will never see a single Knut of our family’s wealth, I will never see any of my family again, I will lose everything that I have – and my father will try to kill me, I know this. It took me a long time to accept that I had… feelings, but now I am at a point where I cannot ignore them any longer.”

“I…” Harry didn’t know what to say. “You don’t need to –– I didn’t know it was like this, why didn’t you say anything? We might have found a way to keep things secret – I would never expect you to do this for… for me.”

“The decision has already been made,” Flint said. “I chose you, Potter – Harry. If you want me, that is,” he added a little more softly.

Harry hesitated – part of him wanted to say _yes_ , scream it at the top of his lungs, wanted to kiss him, wanted him to be all his, but another, more rational part of him said _no_ – Flint had messed with him so often, had hurt him so many times and how could he know if he could trust him this time?

“I understand if you don’t,” Flint said, letting go of Harry’s wrists and taking a step back, but his hand slipped up Harry’s arm and neck to cup his face. “I wouldn’t want myself either,” he added with a short, barking laugh. “Ugliest guy you could find in this castle, not the brightest candle on the chandelier, hated by students and teachers alike, son of your worst enemy’s follower – you can do a lot better than me, Potter.”

“I don’t think you’re ugly,” Harry said – true, Flint was far from handsome in a conventional sense, but that was part of what attracted Harry about him – he liked his tall, very broad figure, he liked his large, strong hands, he liked his dark, almost black eyes, he liked his scars and his nose that had obviously been broken several times; he had told him so before, but Flint had never taken him serious.

“No need to flatter me, Potter,” he said what he always said whenever Harry told him he liked his appearance, laughing shortly, “I can handle the truth.”

“It is the truth,” Harry said, “but I…” He didn’t know if he could trust him, Flint had broken his trust several times before, so why wouldn’t he now?

“You don’t have to explain yourself,” Flint said, dropping his hand from Harry’s cheek and taking another step back. “I just want you to know I’m sorry for all the things I’ve done to you.” He turned around abruptly, walking away with large steps; and Harry touched his cheek where Marcus’ hand had just been; his skin still tingled from the touch and he felt suddenly cold; he hadn’t known he had missed Marcus’ warmth that much.

xXx

 _You are restless, my human_ , Hades remarked after they had landed near the Forbidden Forest and Harry had jumped from his back, his knees still shaking and his head swimming from the wild flight – he had asked Hades to fly as fast and as high as he could until he almost passed out with the lack of oxygen, but he had felt it necessary to clear his mind.

 _I have been having weird dreams_ , he admitted – this was the first time he actually told someone; he hadn’t wanted Ron or Hermione to know because he was sure they would worry about him and also he was not sure whether they would understand.

_What do you dream of?_

_Of darkness_ , Harry said. _And of other things; and lately… I feel like the dreams are taking over me, sometimes they come over me during the day; and it’s hard to stay awake and concentrated; and I can’t make them go._

Hades turned his head towards him, his white eyes fixed at Harry’s face and he came very close, so close his snout almost touched Harry’s forehead. _The darkness is awakening_ , he said. _He is awakening, he is growing stronger_.

_What does this have to do with my dreams?_

_Do you truly believe_ , Hades asked, _that nothing but a little scratch on your forehead stayed after you defeated him?_

 _What do you mean?_ Harry hadn’t been cold before although they were stood in almost knee-deep snow, but suddenly an icy cold crept up his limbs, making him shiver.

 _You know what I mean_ , Hades whispered and then he touched Harry’s scar with his snout. There was a sudden, blazing pain that ran through Harry like a shock, making him scream and stumble back – it had never hurt like this when Hades had touched him before.

_Why does it –_

_You know_. Hades walked towards him slowly and for the first time, Harry was afraid of him – his wings were spread wide, pale moonlight shining through his thin skin and making the pattern of veins stand out; his black coils swallowed any light and his teeth were bared. _You know_ , he repeated, coming even closer and Harry stumbled and fell over backwards; and Hades came even closer, leaning over him like a shadow with burning eyes. _You know_.

 _There… there is something of him inside me_ , Harry whispered. _Our connection – I dream of him, I am inside his mind – he dreams of darkness; and I do, too_. He shivered again, but not due to the cold – deep down, he must have known, he supposed, he must have known all this time.

 _He is growing stronger_ , Hades said, _and so is the darkness inside you_.

_Does he – does he know I –_

_Do you believe you would be here if he knew?_

_No_ , Harry admitted – if Voldemort knew he had been – if unwillingly – peeking into his mind he would most certainly not be twiddling his thumbs, waiting peacefully whatever he was waiting for. _But – what can I do? I don’t – what if he grows stronger?_

 _There is no way to break the connection_ , Hades said simply. _Your souls have been linked and there is no magic that could ever undo this. The only thing you can do is to fight the darkness back – ask yourself, what part of yourself is still you and what is part of yourself belongs to the darkness? Be aware._

 _But how can I know? How can I be sure? Maybe – maybe I am more similar to him than I think._ He shivered at the thought. _I… I have hurt others, I have killed – I murdered Quirrell, I murdered him_. He had never said these words before although he had known them to be true for years – his death had not been a tragic accident, Harry had murdered him. _And I have brought Ron and Hermione into so many dangerous situations where they almost died, I wanted to hurt Sirius before I knew_ –

 _If you believe it is possible to fight darkness without slipping into it, you are a fool_ , Hades said. _You are similar to him in a lot of ways, yes, but you are also very different from him in many more ways._ _And you did not murder Voldemort’s servant – he died when his master’s soul left his body. He would have been disfigured from the burns you gave him, but he would have lived_.

 _How do you know I burned him?_ Harry edged backwards a bit, but Hades seemed unbothered.

 _Your darkest memories left a taint in your blood_ , Hades said, _I can taste them every time I take your blood. There is a lot more to you than what you see when you look at your reflection in a lake – most of your scars are invisible to other humans and to yourself, but not to me._

 _I never knew all these things about thestrals_ , Harry admitted, _they were never in any of the books_.

 _Of course they are not_ , Hades said, _how would humans know? They know almost nothing about us, and it shall be like this forever_.

Harry didn’t say anything, he just pulled his knees to his chest, curling up into a small ball – he felt exhausted and overwhelmed at the same time – _there was something of Voldemort inside him_ – and he had not known all these things about Hades and suddenly he understood why Hermione freaked out so much over him – she had all the reasons to, even if she didn’t know.

_Are you afraid of me, my human?_

_No_ , Harry said after a long while – he still trusted him, Hades had never hurt him (well, apart from the wrist-biting thing) and he had taken him to his parents’ grave which no one had ever done before, and he had Harry reminded who he truly was, and what things mattered. _Not as long as you are my friend_ , he added after a slight pause.

 _The concept of friendship is alien to us_ , Hades said, _but if you want to call me that, you shall. Now go to sleep, and remember to be aware._

 _I will_ , Harry said, _sleep well_.

 _We never sleep_ , Hades said softly, _but you need to – don’t come to fly with me that often anymore, you are losing sleep and you are losing health_.

 _You are probably right_ , Harry admitted. _But one more thing – why haven’t you told me about… about whatever Voldemort left behind in my soul?_

 _Because its story is connected to the other side_ , Hades said, _and we must never speak of the other side._

_I –_

_You will know when the time has come_ , Hades interrupted him, _but this time is not now. Leave now to get rest, my human_.

Harry couldn’t help but smile at him, petting his neck slightly to which Hades inclined his reptile-like head ever so slightly. Shivering at the cold gust of wind, he pulled his cloak around himself and began his way back up to the castle, wading through knee-deep snow. He flinched when something touched his shoulder.

 _Harry_ , Hades said; it was the first time he called Harry by his name, just like Marcus had done a few days ago; _find out why Voldemort killed your parents and you will know why you are different from him_.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: None of this is mine; everything belongs to the great Joanne K. Rowling.
> 
> A/N: Romance is not dead yet, y’all

Harry had been a good, rule-abiding student in the last week for once; he had done all of his homework, he had studied for class and he had (unsuccessfully) looked for spells that might help him for the Tournament, he had gone to bed early, but his finger had started itching after not breaking a single school rule for a whole week; and now he had had to break out of this routine. He had climbed out of the window of their dormitory after the other boys had already fallen asleep and raced off on his Firebolt, towards the Quidditch stadium. He knew that Hades would be waiting for him, if he wanted that, but he had done his best to avoid the topic they had spoken about last time, and although he knew Hades would never bug him, he had a vaguely bad conscience because he had pushing this from himself because he didn’t want to think about something of Voldemort stuck inside his mind like a thorn, thank you very much.

So he did what he always did whenever he needed to clear his mind: flying. The night was so cold his breath formed puffy little clouds before his mouth, and the wind was like a thousand little needles on his face, but Harry liked that, he liked the shock of taking a deep breath of air so cold it burned his lungs, he liked the softest rustle of frozen grass when his feet brushed across the ground after a particularly daring Wronski Feint.

He decided to go for yet another dive when he noticed a figure on a broom nearing the Quidditch stadium, so he quickly hid behind one of the watch towers, watching it come nearer – it was Flint, looking pale and disgruntled and definitely not in the mood for a nice chat, but that had never put Harry off.

“Flint!” he called out, reappearing from behind the watch tower and Flint immediately whirled around, wand raised, but he relaxed when he recognized Harry.

“What are you doing out here?” Flint snarled, frowning at him.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Harry said. “ _I_ am here to fly.”

“So am I,” Flint said, “but as you came here first, I’ll leave again.” He already turned around on his broom when Harry called him back.

“Wait – we can fly together – if you want to, I mean. I was just training for the Wronski Feint.”

“Still obsessed with this one, huh?” Flint said. “Let me see, then.” Apart from everything that had happened between them, and apart from the fact that he probably held the record for the most ever caused fouls within one career at Hogwarts, Harry knew that he was actually a very gifted flyer with an excellent eye for player formations and flying strategies, so Harry really did appreciate his advice on flying. Although admitting it hurt, Flint was probably the better flyer and also the better coach, compared to Oliver.

They had trained together for a long time, barely talking except for Flint barking commands at him from time to time, and Harry didn’t think twice when they walked back towards the changing rooms together. They were both out of breath, having raced each other around the Towers, and practicing the Wronski Feint together, and Harry still felt giddy from the rush of speed. “You look good,” Flint said, gruffly as he ever was, “before, you were pale like a ghost and had under-eye circles darker than a banshee’s hair, but I noticed you eat properly and it seems you also sleep properly.”

Harry couldn’t help but laugh. “Aren’t you charming?”

“D’you expect me to be?”

“Of course not,” Harry said, “I got bored with myself in the end.”

Flint laughed as he stopped in front of the entrance of the Slytherin changing rooms. “Night then, Potter.”

“Night,” Harry said, “thanks for all the advice.”

Flint snorted. “I’ll probably regret that next year when you win the Quidditch Cup and fucking Draco Malfoy comes to me, crying. Seeing that might even be worth it, though.”

He pushed the door open and stepped inside and Harry hesitated, torn –

“Wait.”

“What?”

The next thing Harry knew was that he was almost being crushed between the prickly cold tiles and Flint’s burning hot body, and that he was being kissed by Flint, roughly and hungrily and just how Harry needed it, his left hand holding him in place, pressed against the wall, and his right brushing down his body, his touch enticingly light. “You sure you want this?” he breathed against Harry’s neck, his voice almost drowned out by the running water.

“Yes,” Harry said, his voice hitching, “fuck, yes, Merlin, _yes_.”

xXx

“Time to get up, Potter,” a dark voice said very close to his ear, and a warm hand brushed through his hair.

“’s it?” Harry murmured, voice still heavy with sleep.

“Late enough you’ll miss breakfast if you don’t get up now,” Marcus said. “You can open the curtains, the others are gone already.”

“Hmh,” Harry said, rolling around and stretching lazily. “Haven’t slept that well in a long time.”

“I noticed,” Marcus said drily, “you even slept through Montague trying to curse Laverish because he had borrowed his _Playwizard_ without asking.”

“And, was he successful?”

“I prevented him from being so; put them both into detention.”

“Your own classmates?”

“I’m not prefect for nothing,” Marcus said. “Also now you know why I’m so unpopular.”

Harry laughed. “Actually, Hermione might just put Ron and me into detention as well when she becomes prefect and we do something that disturbs her study sessions. I think you’d get on excellent with her.”

Marcus gave a non-committal grunt and stood up, picking up his clothes from the floor. “Get your lazy ass out of my bed, Potter.”

“Marcus,” Harry said and Marcus’ face softened – barely noticeable, but Harry did see it – when he turned back towards Harry. “What’s… what’s going to become of us?”

“Whatever you want,” Marcus said. “I told you I had already made my decision.”

“I don’t know if I’m ready to go public yet,” Harry said, his lips dry and his heart beating up to his throat – oddly, he was more nervous now than he had been when facing the dragon. “But… but I want to be with you.”

“When I said that I didn’t mean we’d have to hold hands during breakfast the next day,” Marcus said gruffly, “and you know that’s not the kinda thing I’d do anyway.”

“I know,” Harry said softly, “and I don’t want that. But still, I want us – in secret first, but one day I don’t want to have to hide everything that we do together, and I don’t want to have to lie about my feelings and I don’t want to lie to my friends every time I go to see you, and I – I just want to be with you.”

“Are you sure?” Marcus asked, sitting back down next to Harry; his expression a mixture of disbelief and joy. “I mean, really sure? You know I’m not… easy going. You know my background, you – well, you don’t know my father, but you know enough about to him to know the kind of man he is. And I can’t offer you anything – I will never see a single Knut of my family’s heirloom, I will never have their Manor, I’ll be completely fundless.”

“I don’t care about any of that – I mean, I do, for you, but it makes no difference to my decision,” Harry said, taking a deep, shaky breath. “Money makes no difference for me – and family neither – I just want _you_.”

“Really?” Marcus asked, cupping Harry’s cheek softly. “You remember when I told you that you could do so much better than me?”

“I don’t want to,” Harry said, “Just – just promise me you’re not playing games anymore.”

“I promise I’m not,” Marcus said, “the stakes are way too high in this one. I promise, Harry.”

“Okay,” Harry said, taking yet another deep, shaky breath. “I – I just want to be with you.”

Marcus closed his eyes, a relief so deep as Harry had never seen it on him settling on his face, and when they kissed, there was a very different quality to it this time – Harry didn’t dare to think the word yet, but it was there, the first seed had been planted.

“Also, I’ll be taking you to the bloody Ball,” Marcus said unexpectedly while they were both getting dressed quite a bit later.

“Pardon?”

“I’ll take you to the Ball,” Marcus repeated. “If you want me to, that is,” he added after a short pause. “And if you want to – make it public, I mean.”

“That’s not what I expected,” Harry said, cursing himself for blushing. Of course he knew there were quite many students who wanted to go to the Ball with him, but they had all _asked_ Harry, and Marcus hadn’t, he had just expected that Harry would want to go with him (well, Harry _had_ asked him – kind of, after all), and Harry felt like one of the demure girls in Aunt Petunia’s romance novels who agreed with whatever their very manly love interest told them which was definitely not who he wanted to be, but there was something undeniably hot about Marcus being so sure Harry would want to go with him.

“Well, you couldn’t have expected me either to idly watch as one of your giggling fangirls – or _Diggory_ – took you to the Ball, could you?”

“So you’re just jealous,” Harry said, trying to sound confident, but on the inside he was just cursing himself for his weak, wobbly knees – the thought that Marcus could be jealous of some random teenage girl Harry might have had to take to the Ball was really kind of turning him on.

“I know there’s no reason for me to be,” Marcus said casually and before Harry knew what was going on, he was back on the bed, Marcus kneeling over him, pressing his wrists into the mattress. “I just don’t like sharing what is mine.”

“We’ll miss breakfast,” Harry said breathlessly when Marcus kissed his throat.

“Such a pity,” he murmured as he slowly undid the messy knot of Harry’s tie, “d’you mind?”

“No,” was all Harry could say; and he really didn’t mind at all.

xXx

“Thank you so much for reading through my Defense homework, Harry, that was really helpful!” Parvati beamed at him as she took her essay back from Harry. “And thank you for your explanation on the properties of the Shield Charm, I really didn’t know that!”

“Yeah, you’re welcome,” Harry said absent-mindedly, scratching his scar – it hadn’t hurt much at all in the last weeks, it was just itching sometimes, and he was perfectly fine with that because he didn’t want to think about this weird part of Voldemort inside his soul and what it might do to him, since he could for once be sure that his happiness was definitely not something Voldemort had planted inside him.

“There’s one more thing I wanted to ask of you,” Parvati chirped, “if you don’t mind.”

“Sure, what is it?”

“Well, I was wondering – d’you have anyone to go to the Ball with you already?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, a huge grin appearing on his face before he could stop himself, “I mean – uh, sorry, why don’t you go with Ron?”

He glared at Ron who had been busy copying Hermione’s Herbology homework discreetly and his head snapped up. “Huh? I mean – um, yeah?”

“Oh yeah, great idea,” Parvati said, sounding unenthusiastically. “What kind of robes are you going to wear, Ron? So I’ll be able to match mine.”

“Uh, blue?” Ron said, looking confused.

“Midnight blue,” Hermione added. “With golden seams and black lining.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” Parvati said, frowning in surprise.

“Yeah, Harry got them for me.” Ron grinned at him. “Best Christmas present ever.”

“Very well then,” Parvati said shortly, “I’ll see you around. Good night, Harry.” She raised her chin, giving Ron a dark look, and stormed off.

“Hope you didn’t mind that,” Harry said.

“Nah, I mean I probably would’ve asked her anyways.”

“If you had had the courage,” Hermione said drily. “And if you had been sure she wouldn’t say no if you asked her instead of Harry – you might have crushed her dreams a little, Harry.”

“Huh?”

“She was making sheep-eyes at you all evening, didn’t you notice?”

“She was listening to me explaining the Shield Charm!”

Hermione rolled her eyes at him. “Harry, honestly – I know you’re bad at these things, but Parvati is not a bad student in Defense and she’s actually really good with Shield Charms. Oh well, at least I won’t have to listen to her gushing over you every night in the dorm anymore.”

“She, um, does that?”

“Believe me, I have heard more things about your eyes and your hair than I ever wanted to in my entire life,” Hermione said. “Not only from her, though. I cannot _wait_ until the Second Task when you finally take your shirt off and your abs will be the only topic I will get to listen to for weeks.”

“I thought people thought I was a freak?”

“Yes, but a handsome one,” Hermione said. “But now let’s talk about the really important things: you’ve got a date for the Ball, Harry?”

“Um, yeah?” Harry tried to look like it was no big deal, but he was sure his face was redder than Ron’s hair, and that was to say something.

“I _knew_ you were back together,” Hermione said, “I just didn’t know you’d be ready to make it public.”

“How did you know?”

Hermione rolled her eyes at him. “Honestly, Harry, if you shone any brighter, I would have to wear sunglasses inside.”

“So, are you gonna tell us who it is?” Ron asked, leaning in curiously.

“I wish I could,” Harry said, “but we decided to keep it a secret and I promised and – well, Hermione’s date is a secret, too.”

“Fred and George are both making a lot of profit off this,” Ron said, grinning, “they have this little bet thing running for both of you – I think, currently Malfoy is leading in both cases.”

“As if!” Harry and Hermione chorused and Ron grinned.

“As I said, they are both making a lot of profit off this.”

“Who’d you bet on, then?” Harry asked curiously.

“I’ll tell you when the Ball’s over,” Ron said, “but I’m pretty confident in both my guesses.”

“You smell different,” Netha remarked when Harry crawled into bed, yawning and scratching her scales slightly. Lately, he hadn’t taken her with him much, but then again he had spent a lot of time with Marcus and he thought it would be slightly awkward to bring his pet to one of Marcus’ and his… _dates_.

“What do you mean?”

“You smell darker now,” she said, tasting the air with her tongue. “Ever since you stopped visiting the Thestral, you smell darker every day.”

“Really? I feel a lot happier now and I’ve had had way fewer dark thoughts lately,” Harry said, frowning.

Netha touched his wrist slightly with her snout, her tongue flickering across his skin. “Your scent never lies, so beware.”

“I probably should visit Hades again – I haven’t done so in a while.” He ran his fingers across his deeply scarred wrist – oddly, it had never itched even once, so Hades had not called for him and Harry did not like the thought of that – it was as if Hades was silently reproaching him and for some reason, that was a lot more effective than the long reproachful tirades Aunt Petunia had liked to give him every other day about all of his faults and shortcomings. “He told me to find out why Voldemort killed my parents, but – I don’t know if I really… want to find out.”

“Why not?”

“I’m scared of what I might find,” Harry whispered, hugging his knees to his chest. “I always knew they were his enemies because they were on the other side and my mother was a Muggleborn, obviously – it makes sense, doesn’t it?” He shivered, despite the warmth of the dormitory, a deep cold crawling down his back.

“Maybe you should look for the answer to a different question then, if this one is too hurtful” Netha said, “maybe you should try to find out why he tried to kill _you_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you so much for all your comments on the last one! See you soon! xoxo


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